Angel Rising
by CleoKitty
Summary: What if the Ascension didn't go quite as planned? Buffy stopped the Mayor, but at what cost? This is an AU future fic.
1. Chapter 1

Buffy isn't mine

CHAPTER ONE

He came to her in the dead of night. The Betrayer. All these months he had sought her out; all these weeks he had stalked her unseen, watching her every move. Observing her every meeting. Learning to know who she knew. Now he was close to her; standing at the end of her bed, he was almost close enough to touch, and he caught the lingering scent of her perfume rising from her sleeping form. The sensation in his exhausted mind was almost overwhelming. A strangled sob came from his throat. And one word.

"Buffy…"

At the sound of his voice, she moaned, tossed uneasily in her bed, twisting herself within the sheets.

Perhaps, he thought, the sound of his voice had evoked a nightmare of her nightmare past. Or perhaps some sixth sense - her greatly developed sixth sense - was telling her to wake.

The Betrayer didn't want her to wake. Not yet. He only wanted to watch her sleep. Over the past weeks, watching her had been his only pleasure. His only pleasure in… how long? Too long. He didn't want her to wake, not yet. Her waking would almost certainly spoil his dreams of their reunion. She would take one look at him and tell him to get out. To get out and go back to Hell from whence he'd come. And maybe then, she'd slay him. Again. For as many times as it took to ensure he was properly dead. Not that he _could _properly die…

So he backed off, wrapped himself in the heavy cloak he wore, and merged with the deepest shadows of her room, only wanting to talk to her, to touch her. Putting off the inevitable because he knew the pain to come. And because he couldn't bear to let her see him like… this.

But she was stirring anyway now. Her senses, developed to a degree that few humans managed, had alerted her of danger. Struggling out of sleep, she threw back the bedclothes, sat up, her eyes searching the room. Still, The Betrayer kept himself invisible from her eyes. Still, he postponed announcing the news of his return.

"Who's there?"

Ah yes, she knew that something lurked in her private room. And she sounded not afraid - had she ever truly known real fear? - but angry that someone had dared to intrude on her sleeping hours.

"Who the Hell's there? Speak or…"

He faded out the threat that they'd be sorry, only listening to the sound of her voice. It had changed, her voice, from teenaged West Coast Californian schoolgirl, to something more mature, less sharp. More womanly. But of course, he reflected, even as he felt her searching eyes sweep the room again, she _was _a woman now. Over five years had passed since he last spoke with her and five years was a long time in anyone's life, let alone a life like hers. He found himself faintly amazed that she had lived so long.

His eyes studied her, drank her in; now he was close, he could examine her properly. She looked more womanly too. Always beautiful to him, the years had only added to the enchantment she had always held over him. Blonde hair trailed over her shoulders, well cut and shining. Her full mouth, open as she breathed in the night air, trying to sense whatever lay in her room with her, was just as kissable, and for a second, he allowed himself to remember how he had kissed that mouth. How he had…

But no… This was no time for such remembrances. Would there ever be such a time again? He couldn't allow himself that luxury. Still, the sight of her slim body, well-honed and athletic, clad in jersey T-shirt and shorts, made him wish…

"Buffy," he whispered again, and this time she heard him. Had he wanted her to?

"I'm telling you, show yourself. Aren't you brave enough to face me?"

A careless taunt, flung out into the night. He saw her reach out, to the bedside table immediately beside her. On it a silver knife gleamed, a knife he hadn't seen before. He watched as she sat up until she was on her knees, holding the knife, ready to throw it at the least provocation. And he knew she would reach her target; she was deadly accurate.

"I can't show myself," he said, and he saw her eyes, gleaming in the darkness, narrow with fierce concentration. Did she recognise the voice? he wondered. Doubtful: he sounded nothing like his old self these days. Truth to tell, he could barely remember what his old self had sounded like. Hopefully Buffy could help him find out.

"Why can't you show yourself? Are you afraid? You _should_ be afraid."

He smiled a twisted smile before he replied. Had he believed, even for a second, that she had mellowed over the years? If he had, he had been wrong. She sounded, if anything, more cutting than she'd ever sounded before. Many times, especially at the end of their time together, her words had cut him, deeper than any weapon could have.

"Yes, I'm afraid." Admit it, he told himself. He was afraid. He was weak, lonely, a mere shadow of the creature he once had been, with barely any of the powers he'd taken for granted. Of course he was afraid. But mostly, he was afraid of her, and what she would say when she knew he was back.

"Afraid of me? Very sensible." He thought he heard a smile in her voice. He knew that smile: mocking, contemptuous, a smile that said she was in charge and whoever was messing with her had better stop it. "I'm getting tired of this. If you don't want me to impale you on the business end of this knife, because believe me, I can hit you, even if I can't see you, then you'd better tell me who you are and what you want. Quick."

"Buffy, don't you know who I am?" One last attempt at reprieve, one last moment before he saw the disgust on her face. Before the knife flew from her hand right into his blackened heart.

"Quick."

"It's me, Buffy. Angel…"

He closed his eyes, waited for the burning of the silver in his flesh, knew he would suffer the pain, and gladly, in atonement for the way he'd left, and the way he'd returned. But no pain came. He saw Buffy drop the knife from suddenly nerveless fingers, heard her gasp of shock, felt an evil little thrill of delight that he'd managed to shock her out of her oh-so cool attitude.

"You don't sound like Angel…"

"If you knew what I'd been through, the last few years, then you'd understand why."

She fell silent as she digested the fact of his return.

"The Betrayer," he heard her whisper at last. Saw her reach down to grab the knife from the mattress, apparently recovered enough to want the secure feel of the weapon in her shaking hands. "The Betrayer."

Angel was astounded to hear the bitterness in her voice. Was that really how she thought of him then? As The Betrayer? Was that what he had become to her?

"Get out. I don't want to see you, or hear you, or..." Words failed her apparently, for a few seconds anyway. "Do you _want _me to kill you?"

"Again?" Angel queried, remembering the last time, almost feeling it. Silence from Buffy.

Then: "I had to do that. To close the Hellmouth. You know I did. It hurt me. But not as much as you hurt me later. When you returned and then left again."

"I thought you understood…"

"So did I." A pause. She shifted the knife in her hands; she was, Angel could tell, still poised and ready to throw it. "But the years since have taught me what you really were, Angel. No better than the rest of them. You took me and you used me and then you discarded me like an empty candy wrapper. Just as well have killed me, Angel. Might've been better." She took a deep breath. "So again. Why are you here?"

She made to move from the bed, made to move toward the shadows in which he had hidden himself. Could she see him? Angel wondered. No. Not with the cloak with which he had shielded himself.

"Please. Don't come any closer to me." His voice was perilously close to begging and he felt the halt of her progress. She stood in a pool of moonlight, a golden, avenging goddess. Suddenly he felt sick with wanting her.

"Why not?"

The wanting became a deep shame.

"I don't want you to see me… like this."

"Like what? Angel, stop with the stupid games." Impatient again, angry again.

"I'm not how you remember me to be."

"Oh, is that right? Face of an angel, heart of a lying, betraying…"

"Buffy…" The pain came out in the sound of her name: _Buffeeee…_ The sound of a man dying. Who was, he reminded himself, already dead. Undead, anyway.

Perhaps the hurt in his voice softened her heart a little. The hands gripping the knife loosened a little. She still held the knife, but it dangled by her side now. Her face, although still watchful, mistrustful, had at least lost its hard uncompromising look.

"I need your help." Sensing that she was perhaps willing to listen.

"Where were you when I needed yours?" she retorted, but the anger had all but drained away. Only sadness remained.

"You know I had to go."

"Yes." More sadness. "Yes. I know. And now you're back, and now you want my help? How can I help you, Angel? We can only destroy each other. You told me that."

"I was right. Then. But like I said, a lot's happened since then, I guess to both of us, or else you wouldn't be here, in Rupert Giles's London home, away from your friends and family."

"My friends and family were suffering because of me. I had to leave." She paused, shrugged in the old way he remembered, smiled reluctantly. "Yeah. Okay. I get your point." A sigh. "What do you want from me, Angel? How can I possibly help you? And why can't I see you?"

How to phrase this? How to maintain the uneasy truce that had developed?

"I'm… damaged goods, Buffy. You wouldn't like what you saw."

She laughed harshly.

"How bad can it be, Angel? I've seen things a normal person wouldn't believe, you know that. You can't show me anything worse."

"You loved me once, Buffy. That's why I don't want to show you."

"Well I don't love you anymore, so if you want my help - and I'm not promising I'll give it - then you'll have to show me." Uncompromising again. The stubborn girl he'd known so well.

He took a deep breath; it rasped in his chest, his throat like a death rattle. Standing, he let the heavy cloak fall to the floor. Moved toward her until he almost touched her; the need to touch her was an agony. He looked at her face in the moment she saw and the look slayed him as he was once slain at the end of a stake through his heart. His lying, betraying heart…

"Oh, Angel…" She wanted to look away, he could tell, but she wouldn't. Buffy was courageous; he knew that well, from the old times, but he knew that looking into his ruined face took more bravery than anything else she had ever done before. It was he who turned away first, unable to bear the pity in her shining eyes.

"Now you know." His turn to be bitter. "I've wanted to come to you so many times. I've watched you, Buffy. For a long time. Yes, a long time, but I haven't dared come before. Because I knew I couldn't stand for you to look at me like that."

"So what changed?"

"Finally, I couldn't bear for you _not_ to see me. And because you're my only hope."

"Your only hope. Is that supposed to be flattering or what?"

"It's supposed to be the truth, nothing else." He moved away, back into the shadows where his ravaged, decaying features were less evident. "You can restore me, Buffy. I can't do it myself. Believe me, I've tried."

"Yeah. I bet you have. Look, I don't know what's happened to you to make you like this, and I don't know if I want to, but you can't come in here after five years away, knowing the way we parted, and expect me to just cave in and help you. Besides, what do I have to give you that others don't? Others of your own kind?" She spat the last words from her mouth. _Your own kind._ Well, he could understand her hate.

"Can't go to them. I'm outcast from them."

"Yeah? Betrayed them too? _Poor_ Angel." Just as he believed they'd made progress, so she was back to her defensive self again. Angel was beginning to despair.

"All right. I'll go then…"

Hiding his face, he made for the door. As he turned the handle, her voice called him back. It was choked with tears. Suddenly, it seemed, she'd cracked.

"What d'you want me to do?" she asked, and he closed his eyes with relief, then closed the door again, went to her.

"I want you to let me feed from you," he told her, and waited for the laughter that he knew would follow.

xCx


	2. Chapter 2

Buffy is still not mine

CHAPTER TWO

Although Buffy was shocked at Angel's reappearance into her world, she hid it well. Apart from her initial reaction, she thought, as she stood there, watching him with a carefully guarded expression, that she was doing a good job of keeping a lid on her astonishment. And the inner pain that his coming to her had dredged up.

Angel. The Betrayer. She had almost forgotten why she had given him that title, except perhaps that the years had clouded her memory and she preferred to blame him for what had happened to them, rather than admit to the truth. That he had been right, and she had been wrong. Buffy hated to be wrong, even now, after she had learned so many hard lessons. But they had caused each other too much pain. Right from the beginning, and here her memory was perfectly unclouded. How she had wanted Angel on sight, although she was a relatively inexperienced girl of sixteen. Sixteen! She'd thought she'd known it all then, though, hadn't she? Well, teenagers do, she reflected. They think they know it all, but know very little.

And she thought she had known Angel. A little. Right up to the time that he had told her he was a vampire, and destroyed all her schoolgirl illusions…

Was that the moment when she'd first thought of him as The Betrayer? She wondered suddenly. Or was it after they had made love, and he'd reverted once more to a bestial animal who tortured her emotions with red roses and dead bodies?

Buffy shook herself. She was going into territory she didn't want to explore again. Not yet. Maybe never. Instead she tried to concentrate on Angel, who stared at her expectantly, fear and something else glowing from his reddened, sunken eyes. Was that something love? No. Better not to think it. No love. Not for her. Never again.

"You want to feed from me?" she said, trying to keep her voice steady, tasting the strange, and, yes, repellent words on her own lips. Hesitantly he nodded.

Buffy laughed - the sound was cracked and unpleasant. Here was this… thing… who had left her alone, to die or not, as if he'd cared… This thing that looked like Hell, a rotting, putrescent apparition that was the shell of Angel, was asking to drink of her blood.

"No way."

"You said you'd help me." He sounded hurt, like a little boy. Vampires or not, Buffy thought, men never grew up. They always demanded something of her.

"Yeah. Before I knew you wanted to…" She shook her head, disgusted. "I'll help you, Angel, but not like… that. Haven't made a habit of being bitten by vampires, and I don't intend to start now."

"It's the only way you can help me. The only…" He stopped abruptly.

Buffy stared at him, unwilling to help him out. Strange, how hard her heart had become. She had always had time and emotional strength for her friends, when she'd had them, that was. Strange how the years had knocked that out of her. Strange and heart breaking, really.

"I wouldn't have bothered you, Buffy, believe me," Angel was saying. "You think I don't know how you hurt? How you suffer? You think I want you to drag up the past? I only want you to be happy, that's all I ever wanted… But I had to come. I told you, you're my only hope."

"And how does sucking my lifeblood help you?" She looked at him distastefully. Fury rose again and she wanted to stab the silver knife through his heart. She'd killed him once before; feeling the pain in her soul, she knew she could do it again. "Look at you, you disgusting leech. I've spent the best years of my life fighting things like you. Why the Hell should I change that? Why should I let you live?"

"Because we loved each other once, Buffy. Doesn't that count for anything?"

She wrenched her eyes from his, felt herself sucked down into the quicksand of her memories. Knew that yes, it counted for… for everything.

Their first kiss. Before she knew what he was… Even then, so young, she understood it was something special. His mouth, cool and hot at the same time. Soft and hard at the same time. Her senses dizzying, spiralling away from her, feeling herself sink into him. To know real desire for the first time in her short life. And then seeing him as he really was, seeing the devil that lived in that perfect body. Angelus. Face of an angel, soul of a demon.

"Maybe." She was hedging though. Unwilling to show the sudden depth of her emotion. He had her; she just refused to show it. Yet.

They'd tried to stop it of course. Angel had told her, and she had agreed - well, kind of - that a relationship between them wouldn't work. How could it? She was the Slayer, and he was a vampire. A vampire with a conscience, true, cursed to feel the pain of what he did. But still Undead. Still evil. But love, it had seemed, was an unstoppable force. They had grown closer and the inevitable had happened. One night of pure bliss, and then true horror as Angel lost his damned soul and reverted to type. Mourning for her love, yet accepting it was dead, she had finally sacrificed Angel to stop Hell from opening. The true tragedy of that was that Angel's soul had by then been restored.

The idea that he might return had been unthinkable, but he had returned. She still didn't understand how a soul could return from Hell in the same body, the body that had been destroyed. Giles, her Watcher, her guide in those relatively sane days, had tried to explain later, after she confessed that she'd been hiding him, but it hadn't sunk in. All she knew was that her love had come back to her.

So she had hidden it from her friends, knowing they would want him dead. She was especially afraid to tell Giles, knowing the torture that Angel had inflicted on him had left him cold with hate for the creature that was Angelus.

In solitary pain, she had kept Angel chained until he recovered from his ordeal in Hell. But finally, she had to confess. Angel was back.

She was right of course; they hated him for what he had done before. But Angel _was_ back. Changed, but back. How could she reject him? And their love renewed itself as naturally as a flower bloomed. Until it became too difficult. Until he left her again.

Hating herself for it, hating to show weakness of any form, Buffy felt a sob rise in her throat, succeeded in strangling the sound before it was born.

"How will my blood help you?" she managed. "I'm human, same as anyone else. Any human blood would restore you. And I just bet you've had plenty of that."

But behind her caustic comments, she wondered. What in God's name had happened to him, to make him so weak, so… like a walking corpse?

"Buffy, put the knife down, sit down, and I'll tell you."

Angel wanted her to relax, but how could she relax with _him_ here? She almost wished, for the briefest of moments, that James, her Watcher of the past five years, were here with her. And _that,_ she thought, was certainly a horrific thought.

"I'm okay, thanks. This," she waved the knife, a little crazily, "is just here to remind you not to get carried away."

She heard him laugh; his parody of a face creased with what she thought might be amusement.

"Buffy, the way I'm feeling, a gust of wind could damage me, never mind a silver blade. Give me a break here."

Buffy bit her lip to prevent her smiling in return. She mustn't show him any encouragement. If he hurt her again… well, she might use the knife on someone much closer to home.

"Just tell me."

"All right. I've been… sick…

"You don't say." He shot a disgusted look at her flippancy and she shrugged. "Sorry."

"What you see before you is the result of a year's incarceration in a coffin…"

"A coffin? Oh per-lease… You've never been in a coffin in your… unlife…"

"Buffy… do you want to hear this?"

"I don't know. Do I?" Suddenly she was almost enjoying this; she felt as though she had the upper hand at last.

"I've been an outcast since I left you, Buffy. Hated by vampires, feared by humans." He closed his weeping eyes, obviously remembering. Buffy felt his pain, wanted to reach out and touch him, held herself back and aloof. "For a while, when I came back to you, I thought it could be good, but it wasn't… So I left… I've been hounded ever since. Wherever I went, those who knew I'd betrayed my own kind punished me. That was what I did, after all, Buffy, betrayed them by loving you, and by working with you. To cut an extremely long story short, I was trapped and bound and put in a sealed coffin under the earth. I dug my way out when the wood rotted away after a year. You can see for yourself what it did to me. Worse, all the power I had is gone. I've been trying, Buffy, to restore myself ever since, but human blood - normal human blood - is no good. So… I knew I had to find you, if you were still alive… and persuade you to help."

"Why _my_ blood?" Buffy was dangerously close to giving way completely. His hurt, his desperation, was all too real and it touched her. She had, as he had pointed out, loved him once. Still did? No. She absolutely wasn't going down _that_ route.

"You're The Slayer, Buffy. The Chosen One. Your blood is pure, human but better than human. If I drink from you, I know I'll recover. And there's something else…"

"What?" Her barriers came back up in a rush. "What more could you possibly want from me?"

"Not now." Angel was eyeing her speculatively, she saw. "If you agree, then I'll tell you. Otherwise, well, there's just no point."

Buffy turned her back. Perhaps it was foolish but she couldn't look at him anymore. What a strange life she led, where a creature from the pits of hell itself could request such a favour from her. How far removed from those out there who walked the streets, blithely unaware that such creatures existed at all, let alone walked among them. She hadn't asked herself this question in a long time but now she asked it of herself, and of any Higher Power that might be listening to her thoughts: _Why me? What did I ever do to deserve this? _

Of course, James - the saintly, must-do-everything-by-the-book - Harrison would say that she wasn't cursed, but blessed, but what did he know? He didn't live in her body, her heart, her soul. He only advised her. When she allowed it, that was. Still, once again she wished he were here now. Because she knew she was on the verge of doing something sublimely stupid.

"Hell wasn't as bad as this," Angel said from behind her and she turned quickly.

"You never really told me about that," Buffy said. "What it was really like…"

He grinned, a fearful sight.

"And I'm not about to," he replied. "Not yet. But believe me, it wasn't as bad as what I've become. And the way you're looking at me now." The grin disappeared. He covered his face with leprous hands, hands from which the skin peeled and gaping wounds erupted. "I kill, Buffy, I kill all the time and I hate myself, but I need to sustain this life, such as it is. If you can help me, I can stop. I stopped… before… I can stop now. Don't condemn me to live like this anymore."

"How did you find me?"

"Another long story. If you help, I'll tell you. No pressure, Buffy, I swear, but I don't have time for past histories. It was a shock, mind you, to find you gone from Sunnydale. How did that happen?"

"If I help, _I'll_ tell _you._" Again that feeling of supreme power. "Let's just say that things were better that way."

"I heard that Giles was killed. How?"

Now she did sob. The mention of Giles' name was too much.

"I can't talk about it now." Five years and still the pain hadn't left her. Abated, but never gone, always ready to flood in again, like a high tide. "All my old life's finished, I had to give it up." She took a huge breath, stopped the sobs. "But you're back, Angel. So tell me, if I help you, are you going to leave again? Because if you are, you can forget it…"

"If you help me, Buffy, I'm afraid you're stuck with me. Because what I have in mind - well, I can't imagine anyone else who I'd want by my side."

"Yeah?" Was she really falling for that line? Yeah. She supposed she was. Besides, she was intrigued.

"Uh huh."

She met his eyes full on. Felt a welcome smirk form on her mouth, and she actually felt like the old Buffy for the first time in... She didn't know how long. She might regret this later - God knew, she probably would - but this was now, and now was all she had.

"All right," she agreed, full suddenly of helpless bravado. "Let's do it."

xCx


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

As Angel came toward her, Buffy felt a spurt of horror, bitter bile at the back of her throat. Was she going to allow this? Trust The Betrayer? Not trust. Never again, she vowed. She realised that letting this happen was just another rebellion in a million uprisings. Rules, for Buffy, were always made to be broken. So she bit back the horror and gave in to her crazy, go-to-Hell bravado. If she was insane, so be it. Sanity hurt. And the thought in the back of her mind: if she could restore Angel, she would restore the one thing in her life that remained of her old self. God knew, she'd lost everything else, everyone else, because of who and what she was.

And she saw something now in Angel's eyes - those dreadful, dead eyes - that she had believed she would never see again. The dawning of hope.

So she walked toward the bed, sat on it. Laid down the knife on the bedside table. Closed her eyes. Waited.

"Get on with it." Her voice, harsh, a mix of anger at her own weakness, fear of what might happen. If he should kill her… And… No, never that again. Never desire again.

The mattress sank under his weight as he joined her. He hesitated too, still reeking of the certainty that she might change her mind and send him away. But he was close now, and he wanted her too. What she could give him. Buffy felt the change in him. Suddenly he _had _to have it.

"Won't kill you, Buffy," he murmured. "Promise…"

"Better not. Or I'll come back and haunt you. I know how." Making a joke of it, because she'd scream otherwise. _Omigod. If James could see me now…_

His breath on her neck then, noxious, smelling of decay, a cold wind in the depths of an Arctic winter. Inside her chest, her heart twisted. Angel had never smelled this way before, felt this way before. Not even at his worst.

His fingers on her throat, brushing away her hair. Cold, clammy touch, touch of death, almost causing her to jerk away. Then he whispered her name, and she knew it was too late. Perhaps it always had been.

Frigid mouth there now. Mouth of a demon, even more removed from Angel than the creature she'd seen tonight. The beast she knew she should destroy, not give herself to. There were rules, weren't there? Yeah. Rules. Rules she always broke.

When it came, the bite was exquisite pain. Pain of first lovemaking. First joining together. Before.. Before…

And then Buffy felt herself slip under the vampire's feeding spell; she remembered what had brought her to this moment. This place.

Dreamed of the past…

Five years ago. She was just eighteen and Angel had just left her. True, she had initiated the original split, saying she needed time to think, but they hadn't been able to keep apart. The heartbreak was worse than she could ever have imagined and she buried it inside herself. It would fester, she knew, grow like a cancer, but she wouldn't let the others see. How could she, when they'd warned her not to get involved with _him_ again? When they'd wanted him dead, and despite his helping them, still wanted it, although they pretended otherwise.

Buffy slayed the creatures from the Dark World with grim passion now. Every evil she destroyed, every vampire she slayed, was Angel in her heart. How many times did she kill him in her mind? Too many to remember.

Giles, her Watcher then, reprieved by the Council after the misjudgement that had almost killed her because of the strong bond between them, and because she refused to co-operate with others they'd sent, knew she was suffering, but he kept a polite distance. He was nothing if not polite, Giles. She and her friends had always laughed - in a friendly way of course - at his British reserve and privacy, but now Buffy was glad of it. If she wanted to talk, he told her, she was most welcome. If not, he understood. And that was the truth. Giles always understood. Didn't he too lead a pre-destined life? A life that, in the end, was isolated from human reality?

So she slayed. And then Giles told her that the Hellmouth was opening again.

Unbelievable, that news. How could it re-open when she had sacrificed Angel to it? Ah, but Angel came back, didn't he? Giles reminded her. Angel was redeemed from Hell, and that returned the status quo. Soon there would be a rising such as none of them had ever imagined. And they had to be ready.

He couldn't pin-point the exact date of this apocalyptic event, except to say it would be around the time they were due to graduate. The news was digested by the group with little enthusiasm.

"You're telling me I might miss my Graduation Night because Satan can't wait to destroy the world?" Buffy complained. Still a child then, still concerned with childish things. Giles shrugged.

"There'll never be another Graduation Night for anyone if we fail to stop it. Besides, it might not happen then. These things are unpredictable."

So they prepared. While Giles gathered the necessary paraphernalia together, Buffy, Xander, Willow, Cordelia and Oz learned the prayers they needed to chant. And fought evil. Because the evil on the streets was increasing with every night. They didn't need Giles to tell them now. They could feel it.

And then the final confrontation - and was Giles a psychic or what, because just as Buffy was putting on her dress - her _very expensive_ dress - the call came.

"Buffy." Urgency in his voice. "We need you. Now. You know where."

Yeah. She knew where. Sunnydale's church, of all places. As though evil was trying to say: _Even a place of God can't keep us out._

She'd shed her dress and gone downstairs, carrying the backpack in which she kept the equipment she needed. Her mother, ready to see her only child graduate, waylaid her.

"Buffy? Aren't you going to Graduation?"

She couldn't meet her eyes.

"Nah. Got something better to do." Trying to make light of it. Her mother knew her better. Bright anger flooded her face.

"Buffy, we've looked forward to this for so long…" A pause, her eyes blazed with unwilling knowledge. "You're going with that unspeakable Englishman, aren't you? To do his work…"

"_My _work, mom. You know that."

"I wish I didn't know it. I wish…"

"Mom please…" A hug. A light kiss. Had to keep it light because if she got too close, she'd never let go. Then out the door, her mother's pleas and protests ringing in her ears.

Oh, it was out in force tonight, evil. Buffy could smell it. And it was after her. She killed four vampires before she got to the church, which was lit up from inside with a sickly yellow light. Around her, in the cemetery, she saw the earth beginning to move. Saw skeletal hands beginning to push their way up from the gravesites. Not only the Undead rising, she thought. _All_ the dead… She rushed inside.

The others were there, pale faced, shaking with terror. Seeing them, Buffy realised her own fear. No time for jokes or flippant comments, she realised. Had there ever really been time for that? This was no laughing matter. Never had been. But making light of it had been a way of defence, a way of coping. But this was bad. Worse than before, when she had sacrificed _him… _ So bad she wanted to vomit.

"Join hands." Giles ordered. "Begin the chant. It's opening. Can't you feel it?"

"Yes." And she could. How could she fail to, when the stones beneath her feet were trembling, like the beginning of an earthquake?

Giles beginning the prayer. His voice drowned out by the roaring of something that sounded like the attack bellow of an army of prehistoric beasts. They joined in the prayer.

"Light of Love, Light of Life. Light of Eternal Hope." An underlying mantra to the supplication that Giles spoke - yelled - over the ever-increasing din, a tumultuous reverberation that almost scrambled their brains. They were rocked by the activity of the stones beneath them, heard the earth begin to tear open. From beneath, the clamouring of damned souls joined with the sound of the shattering earth. And beneath that still, but climbing, the shrieking of hungry demons.

"It's not stopping!" Xander yelled. "Why isn't it stopping?"

"Shut up!" Giles cried. "Shut up and keep chanting. For God's sake…"

He held aloft the Blood Cross, the artefact they had searched the earth for, that Giles had, Buffy suspected, committed crimes to attain. Crimes for humanity, though. Never against it. As he screamed the prayer, the Crucifix began to bleed. Droplets of blood spattered into the now-yawning abyss, causing the earth to erupt, forcing the circle of friends apart.

"Keep chanting!"

Blood ran from the Cross now. Ran like water from a hose. Into the fissure. The shrieks of the damned, of the demons, turned to howls of agony. It was searing them, Buffy thought with wonder. Searing them. Killing them. She hoped. Then Light, emitting from the Cross in blinding brilliant glory. Buffy closed her eyes, heard more screaming. Then felt herself knocked off her feet. Her last thought as she passed out was that Hell had come to Earth after all…

When she woke, she was in hospital. No-one knew what had happened to her, and she wasn't about to tell them. How were the others? That was all she needed to know. Looks passed from her mother, to the nurses, to the doctor.

"Xander and Willow are fine. Just concussed," her mother said. More looks. Buffy's heart thudded with terror. "Your friend, Cordelia - Buffy - that poor girl…"

"What? What?"

"Her face is burned…"

"Burned…?" Not beautiful Cordy…?

"Buffy…"

"Oz…?" How much more bad news? More shrugs. She cried her question again.

"Oz is…" Her mother's eyes closed.

"He's dead, isn't he?" No tears. Not yet. Not until she knew it all. "Giles?" No answer. "Where is Giles?"

"Intensive therapy. He's… dying... Head injury…"

They couldn't stop her. Tried, but reckoned without her strength, which even now was more than theirs.

He lay corpse-like in a bed, his head swathed with bandaged through which fresh blood seeped. When she touched him, he was cold. Buffy couldn't speak. He opened his eyes and Buffy knew the unknowable.

"Knew you'd come. Killed me… Buffy…"

"NO!" Pain in her head, her chest. Pain of loss…_ Not Giles. Not Giles…_

He raised a feeble, shaking hand.

"Only waited for you, Buffy." A weak smile. "To tell you… We stopped it…. Forever. I have been told… Now I can go…"

"Giles…"

"Promise me, Buffy…"

"Don't talk this way…"

"Buffy… _Promise_." Final strength in his voice. Final command. Sick, she nodded. "Go to my home in London. Read. Learn. Buffy…"

"I promise…" She squeezed his hand. It was colder. "Giles…" But the light from his eyes was fading. Going. Going. Gone.

After that, it was terrible. No more, she told herself, as she stood by Giles' graveside, watching him lowered into the earth forever. No more. She was leaving. Already she had withdrawn herself from her friends. Her _remaining _friends, for Cordy had already been flown off to the best plastic surgery clinic in the country.And Willow and Xander were shell shocked and withdrawn.

But "no more", she learned, were not words recognised by the Watchers' Council. She saw him, the living cliché of tall, dark and handsome, a black suited figure, standing some way away from the graveside. When the service was finished, he approached her.

"Buffy Summers?" Another Brit, she heard from his cut-glass accent. "I'm James Harrison. Your new Watcher."

She almost hit him. Only the greatest effort of will stopped her.

"I'm sorry about Giles," he was saying. "He saved us all, no doubt about it, but he's gone now, Buffy, and you must abide by _my_ rules."

"Oh yeah?" She disliked him on sight, this attractive, well presented man. "Says who?"

"The Council…"

"You can tell the Council to go to Hell. I'm quitting…"

"You can't quit, Buffy. You have your Sacred Duty, your destiny…"

"What are you anyway?" she said, ignoring his talk about Sacred Duty and destiny. She'd had it with those things. "A bunch of vultures waiting for the next death so you can swoop in and take over? Jesus, you're disgusting. And how did you know…?"

"About Giles?" A wintry smile. "We always know, Buffy. It's perfectly simple."

"I don't wanna hear it. Thanks." And she turned her back and walked away.

Next day she walked away from it all. Packed a bag and left. No college after all, not for her. No more involvement with her beloved Xander and Willow. Better they forget her. She only brought death and pain on those she loved.

When she was far enough away, she called her mother, who was frantic. Explained why she had gone. Surprisingly, her mother had understood.

"Keep safe," she'd said at the end. But Buffy only promised she would keep in touch.

For a year she wandered, working her way across country. Every now and then, James Harrison would find her. Remind her. There was still evil, he told her. She told him that evil could go to Hell, but without her help. She was through.

She learned, she grew, she matured. Shed the schoolgirl and became a woman. Eventually, she decided that the time had come to keep her promise to Giles, although James had told her it was foolish. She couldn't be Slayer and Watcher at the same time. But James was wrong. She could be whatever she wanted to be. And a deathbed promise must always be kept.

Having saved enough money, she flew to London. Giles' retainers greeted her with a kind welcome. And Buffy began to learn what few Slayers had learned before.

During the day, she led a normal enough life, after all she had to work to live. After doing a series of menial jobs, she landed a position in a City gym, teaching General Fitness, specialising in Martial Arts. This kept her body honed and toned, a fighting machine, even if she didn't fight much these days. At night, remaining aloof from any kind of social activities, she dedicated herself to keeping her promise to Giles.

She learned to summon and bind demons; to exorcise ghosts and possession, recognising the true from the false. The liberation of astral travel soon bewitched her. And the art of spells and curses and the principles of High Magic were eventually hers. She was no master; only a lifetime's work would achieve that, but it was enough. For now.

Of course James was always there now. Buffy had learned to tolerate him and his disapproval of her acquiring this knowledge, which was, he said, for Watchers to understand, not Slayers. Slayers were supposed to kill, and speaking of that, why wasn't she?

No more killing, Buffy replied. Not unless it was necessary. She and the vampires in London had reached an uneasy truce. They didn't kill humans, she didn't kill _them_. If the truce was broken, she would act. Not until then. She'd seen enough death to last her several incarnations.

And so it went. Until now…

Coming out of her dreamlike state. Angel had fallen away from her, was huddled at the end of the bed, making sounds of pain. She touched her throat; it hurt, and she felt the two holes where he'd punctured her skin. They had, she noticed, already stopped bleeding.

"Angel?" She was worried for him. Her memories, unleashed, had made her determined not to lose him again. Another sound, a choked sound. "Angel…?" He was laughing! Laughing? Why was he laughing?

Then he sat up, turned on the bedside light, and she saw why. Restored. He was restored. Angel with the face of an angel once more. Buffy felt the nightmare past slip away from her.

"You did it!" he exclaimed, delighted. He held out his arms and before she knew what had happened she was in them.

"No," she said. "_We_ did it. We did it together."

xCx


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Buffy was woken from a deep, blood-drained sleep at six am by the insistent ringing of the doorbell. Sitting bolt upright, she wondered for a few moments where she was and what had happened. She had dreamed…

Abruptly, she turned, felt her head spin a little. No. She hadn't dreamed, for wasn't the object of her dream even now lying next to her, sleeping the sleep of the dead? The _Undead_, she reminded herself, an insane little laugh emerging from her lips. Had what she thought happened, really happened? Raised a shaking hand to her neck. God. Scabs from two little puncture holes lay rough under her fingertips. Puncture holes made by vampire fangs. What had happened afterwards? Buffy frowned. Tried to remember. Nothing had happened. Not even talk. They had both been exhausted, and had fallen asleep.

She reflected on the previous night's insanity. Despite his reassurances that he wouldn't hurt her, Angel could have killed her. Worse. Changed her. Buffy shuddered, wondered where this would lead. Knew where it _should_ lead…

The doorbell rang again, even more impatiently, and Buffy supposed she ought to answer it, although who could be disturbing her at six am, she had no idea. Facing the consequences could come later.

Getting out of bed, she felt faint. Blood loss, she decided, still utterly shocked that she'd allowed Angel to do… what he had done. Definitely a moment of madness in a lifetime of insanity. Pulling her wrap around her, moving like an old woman, she went downstairs, through the still, silent house, silent except for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall.

Flinging open the front door, her heart sank. James Harrison glowered before her.

"Buffy." No: _"Hello_", or _"How are you?"_ Just "Buffy," spoken in a terse voice that suggested that James was not a happy man.

"James." Did she sound guilty, even with that one word? If she hadn't given Angel so much blood last night, she guessed that an ashamed flush might have stained her face. "It's very early. What can I help you with?"

James stared past her, as though trying to see something. He nodded his head thoughtfully.

"Well now, Buffy," he said in that maddeningly cool, correct accent. "You tell me."

"I don't understand." But her heart beat far too fast in her chest, not just as a result of her body compensating for the loss of blood last night, but because she was suddenly fearful of him. And she had never been afraid of James in all the time she'd known him. Contemptuous, angry, on very rare occasions, grudgingly grateful for his presence, even if it was irksome. But never afraid of him. The new sensation was highly unsettling.

"You had a visitor last night." James made it sound like the most heinous crime, and Buffy supposed that given who her visitor was, he was right. But she kept silent. What could James know? "Nothing to say?"

"No." Buffy shivered; the early spring air was cool against her thinly clad body. "But supposing you're right, James. What business is it of yours who I allow into my house?"

"Not your house, Buffy, not exactly, but we won't go into that." James smiled, and not for the first time, Buffy felt like wiping that smug look right off his too-handsome, patrician face. "And normally, I wouldn't worry. After all, your private life is your affair. And besides, in all the time I've known you, I've never known you to have… shall we say, a boyfriend, home. And my informants tell me that what went into your home last night was no boy."

"Your informants?" Buffy was disgusted. Oh, she knew James had contacts who kept him apprised on what was happening in his location, but she had no idea that she was watched too. Other than by James, of course. She supposed, knowing the Watcher's Council as she did, that she should have known otherwise. God, but she hated them. Jumped-up, stuffy bunch of…

"Doesn't matter." James stared past her again. "Let me in, Buffy." His voice held a tone of easy command.

"You have no right…" she began, but he pushed past her, ignoring her protests. Pushed past her and went straight to the stairs. Buffy raced after him, managed to bar his way.

"Don't you dare go up there," she snarled, sounding almost like a creature of the night herself. James laughed.

"So you are hiding something," he said. "Thought as much." He sounded pleased with himself and Buffy barely controlled her urge to hurt him, really hurt him.

"No, she's not hiding anything."

A voice from the top of the stairs. Angel's voice from the shadowed upstairs hallway. Buffy felt her heart sink. What did Angel think he was doing? But James was still smiling, a smile of triumph, she thought.

"Angelus," James said, he didn't sound at all surprised. "I didn't think you'd be stupid enough to come back."

"Couldn't stay away, James," Angel replied, sounding as though James was his long-lost best friend.

"No. And fully restored, I see." He cast a disgusted look at Buffy, who was totally dumbfounded. "No doubt you facilitated that?"

"I asked for help, she gave it," Angel said, coming down the stairs, careful to stay out of the early morning sunlight. "What are old friends for?"

"You _knew_ Angel was back, and you didn't tell me?" Buffy finally managed, unable to believe the evidence of her own ears, unable to believe that James, who knew their entire, unhappy history, had chosen to keep the truth from her. Still, how could she have expected anything else from James, who thought only of tradition and duty, never emotions?

"As I said, I didn't think he'd be stupid enough to come here. But yes, I knew he was back. I thought it best not to mention it. You have enough problems dealing with the vampires you do know about, let alone with someone to whom you were… close once." His eyes raked Angel with cool contempt. "I see, however, that you have truly betrayed your calling, Buffy, by restoring this creature to full strength. Now," he said, moving toward Buffy's lounge, "we really do need to talk."

Buffy followed James into the still-dark lounge; he had, she saw, made himself comfortable in one of the over-stuffed chairs. Behind her, Angel followed, keeping silent for now, obviously content to absorb atmosphere and situation.

"All right, Buffy, let me lay my cards on the table." James leaned back against the leather. "You came here against orders four years ago. The Council told me that could be tolerated, as long as you obeyed your calling and performed your Sacred Duty." A pause as he allowed Buffy to absorb the information. "But you have ignored your Sacred Duty, Buffy, by not eradicating the resident vampires. Instead, you have forged a truce…"

"Because of me, no-one has had to die," Buffy interrupted. "Since I made the truce, no-one has died of vampire attack and…"

"That is the only reason the Council has not had you permanently removed," James retorted, and Angel stepped forward, his eyes blazing with that dreadful demonic fury that Buffy remembered all too well.

"You wouldn't dare hurt her," he growled, but James merely flicked a look at him and laughed.

"Dare, Angelus?" Still that mocking use of Angel's original identity. "Dare? Believe me, we have removed Slayers before when they have shirked their duties. Buffy has neglected her true duty since the closing of the Hellmouth in Sunnydale five years ago, but we have been lenient with her. However," James held up a hand against Angel's protest, "she has restored you to full health and vigour again, and that cannot be allowed." He turned to Buffy. "On behalf of the Council, I make the request that you destroy Angelus once and forever…"

"He's not Angelus!" Buffy finally cried. "He's Angel, with a soul. He thinks, he feels, he loves…"

She stopped, wondering why she was defending Angel, who had only ever caused her misery, even in the deepness of their love. And how did she know he still had a soul? He might have lost it again, during his time away.

"He kills," James said, with a finality that that was chilling, taking advantage of her sudden hesitation. "Buffy, there is no option in this. We have had enough of your insubordination and flouting the rules. Rules, I might add, that were made for the good of Humanity as a whole, not to be bent for the sake of one Slayer's over-emotional, nostalgic emotions. You kill him, Buffy, or else we will send someone else to do it, and then…" James left the sentence unfinished, but Buffy knew exactly what he meant. Then she would be terminated. She made to say something - she knew not what - when Angel spoke. His voice was soft, beyond sadness.

"I can't be killed," he said, and James uttered a little laugh. "I can't be killed," he repeated. "Yes, I have a soul. Almost unique among the Undead. But my soul is my curse, and the curse can never be lifted…"

"It was before," Buffy said; she heard the bitterness back in her voice, and confusion overwhelmed her. That and deep hurt as she remembered…

Yes, Buffy. Before… And then it was restored and you sent me to Hell. An eternity I suffered there, it seemed, before I came back. But Hell wasn't my punishment, Buffy. Coming back was the suffering they bestowed upon me. They allowed me to keep my soul, restored my body. Sent me back to you, to pay for the love I had for you. But they renewed the bloodlust too. Made it worse, so I would kill and regret it. That was the real reason I left in the end: because the urge to kill you was too strong."

Angel stopped. His voice was choked with tears, and Buffy felt her own throat lock at his obvious pain. In the chair, James sat, listening intently, a frown creasing his forehead.

"And how do you imagine that you cannot be killed?" James said, frowning more deeply. Angel laughed bitterly.

"Ah well, that's the _really_ clever part," he said. "They're clever in Hell, you know. They can really know what would truly destroy someone's soul. They put me back in a body that won't die. Oh, you can stake me, and I'll explode. You can put me in full sunlight and I'll fry. But my punishment is that I'll always come back, like I did before, always in this body, always with this soul. Always with this soul, James. So Buffy can carry out her Sacred Duty until the end of eternity, but you'll never be rid of me."

Deep silence as both James and Buffy digested this news. For herself, Buffy felt deep sorrow for Angel. She was uncertain as to her feelings for him - she was afraid to love him, although she guessed that she had never truly stopped - but she was sure of the pity she felt for him. Surely no one deserved such a terrible fate?

"I betrayed my own kind, Buffy, when I loved you," Angel said, perhaps knowing her thoughts; he had always known what she was thinking before. "The worst crime a vampire can commit, to go against his own evil. That's why my punishment was so harsh. If I wanted to love, they told me, then I could love forever. And hunger forever."

"Oh Angel…"

"So you came back to jeer at us with it, is that right?" James asked, and Angel turned to him, shook his head.

"No, James, I came back to Buffy because she was the only person who could restore me. When I left her all those years ago, I wandered for a while. Wanting Buffy, not being able to have her, was an all-consuming pain. I killed because I needed to, because I wanted to, and always hated myself for it. I tried to commit suicide a couple of times, you know, walking into daylight and such like. All I did was hurt myself more. I always came back, just as they promised. And then, two old friends caught up with me. Spike and Drusilla. Back together. Wanting revenge. I let them take me, Buffy. Couldn't fight, not any more. They took me, sealed me in a coffin and buried me deep beneath the earth. Without food, I weakened. But starvation clears the mind wonderfully, I found. I began to think of you again, allowed myself to remember how sweet it had been, Buffy, despite the pain we caused each other. I began to yearn, and the yearning gave me the strength to get out, to claw my way up through the earth.

"But my weakness was great. I was nothing more than an emaciated skeleton. I hid myself away, Buffy, killed more than ever to assuage my hunger, which was never satisfied. And eventually, when I was able to, I had myself shipped over here to find you, because I knew your blood might help me. Spike and Drusilla had told me where you'd gone. How they knew, I have no idea. So, I came here. Found you. Watched you. And another idea came to me.

"You've learned so much, Buffy." He shot a poisonous look at James, who recoiled slightly. "You thought she was wrong, you and the Watcher's Council, because she wanted to learn, because she sought Truth instead of what you chose to feed her. Buffy's open-minded, despite her personal tragedies. She wants to do things differently. That's why I think she can help me."

"How, Angel? What can I do, if I can't kill you and release you from your hurt?" Buffy, despite herself, was openly weeping now. She had never felt so alone in her life; Angel's return had re-opened her scars and she feared they would never truly close.

"You can kill the vampire me, Buffy." He paused, knowing that what he was about to ask was almost impossible, certainly he had never heard that it had been done before. "If there's a way to become human again, Buffy, then that's what I want."

And he listened to the stunned silence that followed.

xCx


	5. Chapter 5

Ah, real life sucks! Sorry for the long wait!

(I don't own s!)

CHAPTER FIVE

"Is this possible?"

Angel spoke into the early morning silence, half-amused at the wide-eyed faces of the humans before him. He could feel their shock and it touched his soul - his tainted, pained soul - with a hint of wicked glee. The demon in him laughed at them, even as his cursed humanity regretted it. He saw the Watcher, James, shake his head and he was glad that he'd been jerked out of his self-satisfied complacency.

"I've never heard of such a thing," James said.

"Are you sure?" Oh, but the Watcher's bewilderment was a wonderful thing to see. Angel could almost feed from it…

"Angel? You want to be human?" Buffy spoke, Buffy his love. His eternal love… "You want to…?"

"I want to age and die, like a normal man," he said, the harshness of his words and voice causing a look of hurt to cross her face. Knew he was already giving her pain, and he had been back in her life for less than twelve hours. "I've had enough of this damnation, because that's what this is. Didn't you understand a single word of what I've just said?"

"Yeah, sure, Angel," Buffy said. "But to become human… As James just said, I've never heard of such a thing. Only one way for a vampire to die, as far as I know, and it's not as a human."

"I know your kind of death," Angel said. He laid a hand on Buffy's arm as he saw her face close up; he hadn't intended to wound her, hadn't intended to be cruel, but it just slipped out. "You can see what I've become. Angelus, but not Angelus. I have to end this. You have to help me." He looked toward James, who had a deep frown on his face. "You too. If you think about it, you'll be ridding the world of a vampire, just in an alternative way. Me. The worst that ever lived, remember?" Angel laid the bait, wondering if James would take it. James shrugged.

"Yes, I've heard that you deserve your title. Maybe you are, maybe you aren't. Worse than you have died, I think. But still, you're pretty bad. It would be a great coup to truly rid the world of you. But what makes you think you'd be any better as a human? Your past record doesn't exactly suggest that you would."

"Oh, believe me, if I was human again, I wouldn't become the drunken no-hoper I was before. I don't know what I'd do, but at least if I didn't change my evil ways, I could… Well, you know?"

"I think we should help," Buffy said quickly, and Angel guessed that she found the allusion to his suicide - for that was what he had meant - distasteful. Still, he sighed with relief. For whatever reason - and Angel didn't kid himself that Buffy had wholly forgiven him, or trusted him - Buffy was willing to try. But then, Buffy had always tried. It was part of her multi-faceted allure. And perhaps, if it all went wrong, if he turned back and turned bad, then she would kill him. In that event, Angel guessed no one would find out; Buffy would make sure of that.

But James - that ceaseless party-pooper - was shaking his head.

"The Council will never allow it," he told them. "This goes against everything we stand for, and everything you stand for, Buffy. Why do I keep having to remind you? Why won't you ever co-operate? I told you - they've had enough. Once they find out about Angelus, they'll decide to replace you. Permanently." Still that insistence on using Angel's old identity, and Angel felt like ripping his throat out. As for the "permanent" bit - well, Angel would kill James - or anyone else - if he tried to enforce that. But Buffy was more than capable of fighting her own battles, even now, threatened with the loss of her life.

"James, you know the reason for my so-called disobedience and disrespect." She smiled sweetly. "Because the Council's outdated, useless and makes the most god-awful mess-ups." An ever sweeter smile. "And because, despite them thinking otherwise, I'm not their pretty little puppet, to be jerked around on a string. I'm _me,_ I'm Buffy, and they'd better not mess with me. Okay?"

"Buffy, they can mess with you any time they like. They just haven't chosen to, that's all." James was apparently unmoved by her defiance; Angel guessed - knew - he would have seen it all before. Still, it was good to see Buffy back to normal. Well, almost.

"They can send another Slayer. They've done it before. Kendra, Faith…"

"Both activated upon the death of Slayers, you and then Kendra."

"Yeah, well, I always wondered about that. Doesn't make sense, you know. I mean I only died for about a minute, and we know that true death, when the soul leaves the body, doesn't happen for a lot longer than that. There wasn't really time for Kendra to become activated by that. Besides, she didn't turn up for ages after. The Council could have stopped her. Same with Faith, and where's she, anyway? Is she even still alive?"

James shrugged.

"I'm not privy to all the Council's knowledge. Besides, Faith's not my concern, never has been. You're the only one I worry about." James's face softened for a moment, just a moment. "I do worry, you know, Buffy. I know I'm an aggravation to you, and God knows, you drive me to despair at times, but you're special, and I don't want to see you die."

Angel felt a fleeting jealousy; this Watcher cared for Buffy? Thought she was special, despite his arrogant treatment of her? Then he forced his anger to die. He had no claim on her, not now, maybe never.

"Well, James," Buffy was saying, "I have no intention of dying, okay? But I do mean to see Angel through on his request. If there's a way, I'll find it. So, if a Slayer retires…"

"A Slayer can't retire, not just on a whim. If you were, incapacitated perhaps, crippled, maybe even pregnant, then it would be allowed, but not just like that. And especially not after all the heartache you've caused the Council."

"The Council doesn't have a heart." A sly grin. "So tell them I'm pregnant then, James. Maybe you can say you're the father."

James flushed bright red, and Angel wanted to laugh, but felt jealousy roar inside him again. Buffy was flirting with this man; oh, she'd deny it, probably didn't know she was doing it herself, but she was flirting, all right. And James, despite his obvious discomfiture, wasn't exactly stopping her.

"Don't be ridiculous, Buffy," James mumbled. "If you want to do this, you're on your own."

"I want to do this." Buffy dropped the flirtatious act. "James, I've never asked for your help before. I admit I've been nasty to you since the day you came to me. Grief at first because you couldn't replace Giles then… then just habit, I guess. But I'm asking you now. Help me. Us."

"I can't…"

"Please? Giles would help." A low blow.

"I'm not Giles."

"No." Buffy shot him a flat look that was withering with derision. "No, you're not."

"That isn't fair."

"I don't play fair. Not anymore."

James hesitated; Angel could see his British reserve beginning to crack. Oh yes, this Watcher cared, in ways a Watcher should never care for his charge. Angel guessed he'd only stuck around and supported her because of his feelings, this man who appeared to have no emotions.

"If I helped, and only if, what would you want me to do?" he said eventually.

"Well, if you were to help, then all I'd want you to do would be to find out if it's possible. Nothing else. Angel and me, we'll do the rest. Promise."

A look of total innocence on her face; Angel wondered if James would fall for it. Surely after all the years he'd known her, he'd realised he was being manipulated?

"That's all?" James asked; yes, he was buying it. Buffy nodded, and James rose from his chair and left without a backward glance.

"You think he'll do it?" Buffy said; she sounded uncertain. Angel grimaced.

"Oh, he'll do it."

_For you,_ he added silently. _For you._

James was gone two days, days in which Angel and Buffy got to know each other again. Not as lovers, but as old companions. Both were all too aware of past trials to dare become close. Buffy told him the whole story of her exodus from Sunnydale, and the years in between; Angel elaborated on his wandering and suffering. When James finally re-appeared they were both certain that reclaiming Angel's humanity was the only way forward toward mutual peace.

"It was difficult," James announced. "I've spent too many hours in the Council vault, pretending to do legitimate work." He pulled a sheaf of papers from his briefcase and put them onto the reading table in Giles' library. "These are photocopies of ancient manuscripts, written, if you can believe it, by ancient vampires, perhaps the first that had the written word. Much more ancient than even The Master was, Buffy. And much more proficient magicians than he. Terrifying thought. These vampires - Marcus Romanus, to name but one, and that was probably only his Latin name - tells us that there are ways to restore not only the soul of a vampire, but to restore to it its human life. Here, I'll read you a little, loosely translated, of course:

" "That which is set down here is to warn our Kindred against magicians who would seek to bring them down. To become human once in the vampire state is anathema, and punishable by terrible death." A promise, do you see? Marcus goes on: "Those who repent of their deeds, who atone for their evil; those seek out those who know the Rituals, or who kill their own Kindred, will suffer Hell.""

James laid down the papers and regarded them both. Angel felt a little shiver run through him; he knew all too well what lay in Hell.

"Does that tell you anything?" James asked.

"I knew the bit about killing your own kind; that's why I'm here," Angel said bitterly. "And I guess that for vampires to repent of their sins is kind of stupid, and is badly looked upon, but… I don't know if it tells me anything. As for Rituals… I know nothing of that."

"You were skilled in magic, Angel," Buffy said, and Angel smiled sadly, tapped his head.

"All lost, Buffy. All wiped. It would've been madness for Hell to leave me with such memories, now wouldn't it?"

"Yeah. I guess. So James, have you managed to make sense of it?"

"Oh, I didn't need to make sense of it. Marcus tells us more. He tells us that to become human again, a vampire must make true amends for what he has done. He - or she - must spend time in solitude, must visit those whose lives he has ruined, must even summon the dead he has killed to beg their forgiveness. If this isn't possible, he must lay down his own life for the greater good of a specific cause; then he might die a human death. If that doesn't appeal, then there are Rituals - not given here - that might work. And finally, perhaps the easiest way, although certainly not without its own perils, he must kill his sire, his sire's sire, and his sire's, sire's sire, maybe working right down the bloodline until it's eradicated."

"He's pretty specific, given that he's warned against it, and promised due punishment," Buffy said wryly. James smiled - perhaps the first time Angel had seen him do so properly.

"Yes, well, he has to give proper warning of what to avoid." James turned to Angel. "Your choice, my friend," he said, the _my friend_ not sounding entirely sincere.

"My choice." Angel considered. "Well, I could atone for eternity for what I've done, and I guess it wouldn't be enough. All those deaths I've caused, all that sorrow…"

"You have eternity," James reminded him.

"Not if I want Buffy's help, I don't," Angel replied and James smiled again.

"Well, now you know the options, and I have access to this information, you probably won't need Buffy anymore. You can leave her to do her work…"

"James!" Buffy sounded disgusted. "I'm helping him. I told you."

"You're making a mistake…"

"No! No, you're the one making a mistake if you think you can influence me into betraying Angel when I've promised my help. My promises mean something. The ones made to my _friends_ anyway."

James laughed.

"I have to admire you, Buffy. I've never known you to show such loyalty." A pause. "I like you better for it."

"I don't care what you like."

"All right." James seemed gracious in defeat, Angel thought, even though his stomach churned with dislike. "So, you don't have eternity. So, magic?"

"Can you find the rituals?"

"I can try. But Angel, I think the answer's obvious. Kill. That way you'll be helping us, as we are helping you."

"Kill?" Angel began to laugh, suddenly seeing it, what James had known all along. "Kill my sire. Done already. Darla."

"Quite," James said, sounding disappointed that Angel had caught on so quickly. But what did he think Angel was, stupid? "Do you know who Darla's sire was?"

"No." No, she had never told him.

"Then you must find out," James said. "You must find out." He paused. "Of course, he or she might already be dead. Then you'll have to try another way."

James smiled and Angel knew that he wanted to make a difficult task more difficult still.

xCx


	6. Chapter 6

Sadly I don't own Buffy (sigh)

CHAPTER SIX

"Buffy, I don't think this is gonna work."

Angel walked beside Buffy through darkened London Streets on their way to see an associate of Buffy's - a vampire with the exotic name of Storm. Buffy smiled grimly.

"Storm will listen to me," she said. "He doesn't have much choice."

"Maybe in the past," Angel said. "But they'll see you with me and…"

"And they'll do as they're told." Buffy appeared not to want to listen to Angel's objections about why seeking out the help of other vampires was not a good idea. But then, Buffy had always been stubborn.

"Look, Angel," Buffy was saying, "Despite what James might say about how I'm regarded by the Watchers' Council, I've worked long and hard in this city. Patrolling at first, discovering how things were. Despite my vow not to fight anymore, I was forced to kill a few vampires, those who wanted the status of murdering a Slayer. But I didn't want another Sunnydale, Angel. If I'd had to endure that… Well, I couldn't. No way. So I let it be known that I wanted to negotiate a kind of peace between humans and vampires in this city…"

"How can there be peace, Buffy?" Angel broke in. "I don't understand how there ever can be."

"Well, maybe not peace," Buffy conceded, " but mutual respect. Storm's the main man here; the others listen to him. He's old and despite his somewhat flippant manner, he's wise enough to know that a state of war isn't desirable for anyone. He knows what's good for him and his kind. Your kind, Angel."

"Not anymore." Angel shook his head. "I'm outcast, you know that. I'm not any kind, any more. I shouldn't have come to you…"

"But you did come, Angel, right? You came and you begged for my help. Do you want to go on and on, in a cycle of killing and self-loathing?"

She stopped in the middle of the street, turned to look at him. Rain, falling in relentless cold drizzle, soaked her hair, plastering it to her head. Wet lashes around her eyes made her appear as though she wept. Unable to bear the sight, Angel closed his own eyes. Her beauty made him want to crush her to him, but he had no right to want that. None at all.

"Angel." A cold wet hand touched his face. Her hand. "If Storm can help, then surely it's worth finding out? If you - if _we_ - can do this, then maybe we can start to live again. Because neither of us are right now. We're just existing."

Angel opened his eyes again, placed his hand over hers. _We're just existing._ Her words echoed in his head. Yeah. He'd been just existing for over a century now. Ever since the return of his damned soul. It was almost better before the curse…

"All right." The urge to kiss her was almost overwhelming, but to fulfil that urge might bring about another, less pleasant urge, and he pushed the emotion away. He took his hand away from hers and stepped back. She smiled a little.

"All right." A grin then. "No pain, no gain, right?"

"If you say so."

They carried on walking in silence for a few more streets, before they started speaking again.

"Weren't you afraid?" Angel asked, and Buffy turned to him with another smile.

"Afraid of what?"

"Of trying to make peace? After what happened in Sunnydale at the end?"

"I laugh in the face of fear and spit in the eye of danger," Buffy said, but the smile had fled her face, belying her words. "Yeah, sure I was afraid. But the more I held off from the fight, the more I learned. I think the vampires in Sunnydale were so aggressive because of the Hellmouth. Its presence made their natural inclinations toward evil much worse. And they were mostly newly created, driven by the intense bloodlust that comes in the early stages. But I've discovered a lot of things that I hadn't really figured out before, because there was no time to really _know_."

"Such as?"

"Well, such as the older a vampire is, the less likely he or she is to risk their existence. They live more carefully - you should know that. That's _why_ they're older; they've learned how to survive. And your personality before you were changed will to a certain extent determine your personality after. And of course, whatever demon inhabits you will decide how you behave too."

"Doesn't say much for the way I've acted then, does it?" Shame - almost comfortingly familiar - swept through him, and Buffy sighed impatiently.

"Stop with the self-pity, Angel," she snapped. "God, you always were _so _good at that, weren't you? Poor suffering Angel with the soul. Get over it - you might have a chance for a new life now. Think of that, instead of what has been."

Oh, but she was right, of course, Angel thought wretchedly. He'd become an expert at wearing a spiritual hair shirt and wielding the emotional whip of self-flagellation. No more, he vowed. No matter what else happened, he would try never to whine or complain again. Not when Buffy was risking so much to help him.

"Sorry," he muttered. Buffy shrugged.

"Yeah. Whatever."

A few more moments of silence, then Buffy stopped.

"We're here." She nodded toward a large, slightly dilapidated house set in its own walled grounds. Angel had seen the place before, on one of his nightly forays when he had stalked Buffy, making himself invisible and undetectable. He had never known who lived there, although he'd sensed vampire activity there and kept himself well hidden. Now he did know. Storm. The Main Man…

Buffy was walking up the front drive without hesitation, and banging on the door. A pale faced creature opened the door. When she saw Buffy, the creature - obviously a younger vampire - seemed to shrink away.

"Is your master here?" Buffy asked; Angel recognised the tone: uncompromising; hard. She didn't wait for an answer, but pushed past the cringing girl. Uncertainly - for didn't the girl look at him with contempt as though she sensed what he was, a human collaborator of the worst kind? - Angel followed Buffy through a dimly lit corridor into a lounge, the once ornate décor of which had decayed into a kind of faded decadence. There, on an ancient velvet couch the colour of blood, (possibly so that spilt blood didn't show on its surface) a young man and a young woman sprawled. The young man was bent over the young woman, who lay beneath him, her eyes closed in rapture. Sucking noises and sighs floated on the air.

"Storm," Buffy said. "Am I interrupting?"

Storm sprang up as though an electric charge had passed through him; obviously he'd been so wrapped up in what he'd been doing, he hadn't heard the banging on the door. He snarled, his demon face still in evidence; rich blood stained his mouth. Then he recovered himself, and in place of the demon, an almost beautiful face with burning black eyes ringed round with kohl; a full sensual mouth curved in a tiny smile. Shoulder length black hair accentuated the parchment pallor of his skin. Bowing, he allowed the smile to widen.

"My dear Miss Summers," he said, in a perfectly modulated British accent. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" His eyes swept over Angel, dismissed him instantly with utter coldness. "And why is this creature with you?" He turned to the girl, who still lay on the couch in a swoon, the two bite holes in her neck dribbling scarlet. "Charlotte, my darling," he said. "Go and get Miss Summers a drink."

"No need," said Buffy, as Charlotte slowly got to her feet, but Storm waved away her protest.

"Nonsense," he said. "Charlotte enjoys waiting on our guests." He nodded and Charlotte disappeared. Angel frowned.

"You allow this?" he asked Buffy, who watched apparently unmoved as Storm's human slave left the room.

"It's her choice," Buffy said, her eyes never leaving Storm's in a half-amused battle of wills. "As long as neither of them oversteps the mark, then I can't do anything about it." Exactly what constituted being over the mark, she didn't elaborate. Storm broke the gaze here, to stare at Angel, who saw Buffy smirk. She enjoyed the games, he thought. Better than killing, this command over creatures potentially stronger than she.

"I know about _him_," Storm said, breaking Angel's train of thought. "We all know about Angelus, who betrayed his own kind, albeit for your lovely self." His perfect face stretched in an insincere grin and he made another bow. "I'm surprised you tolerate him, Buffy, after what he did to you."

"He's the reason I'm here, Storm," Buffy said curtly. "And since I offer you the courtesy of letting you keep your godforsaken life, then you can offer me the courtesy of listening to why Angel deserves a second chance."

Charlotte had reappeared with a bottle of red wine and four glasses, which she duly poured and handed around, before going to sit in a chair on the far side of the room, sipping her own drink thoughtfully.

"I'm all ears," Storm replied, and the next half-hour or so was taken up by Buffy's telling him what had occurred over the past few days. At the end, Storm smirked.

"Any reason I should know anything that might help you?" he asked.

"Because you're the oldest vampire in the city. Because you've been around the world. Because despite your apparent shallowness, you've forgotten things that others could never hope to know. So search your mind, Storm. Do you know, or have any idea, of who Darla's sire was? Did you even know her?"

"And if I choose not to tell you?"

Buffy pulled back the sleeve of her jumper; beneath, a contraption Angel hadn't been aware of. Strapped to her arm, a leather knife pouch in which the silver knife she had threatened him with the first night he'd come to her glittered. A tiny lever - like the safety of a gun - lay just beneath her thumb.

"If I activate this," Buffy said, "then this knife will fly to wherever it's aimed. And don't think I'm bluffing, because you don't want to push your luck."

Storm laughed, nodded.

"Point taken, as it were. And while I'm not particularly afraid of your threats, my dear Buffy, I don't particularly want to make you carry them out either. Besides, compared to this freak," he nodded toward Angel, "I consider my life highly liveable. So I'll tell you."

"Tell me what, Storm, my love?"

"I don't know a thing."

Angel felt sudden, terrible despair envelope him again, but he kept silent, watched as Buffy sprang forward with a cry of fury, to land on Storm. Under their combined weight, the velvet couch fell backward, sprawling them onto the floor. The girl Charlotte, rose from her seat, spilling her wine, made to attack Buffy, who held the silver knife over the region of Storm's heart. Her other hand gripped his throat.

"Get her away from me, Angel," Buffy snarled. "Get her away, or I swear I'll kill him."

Angel seized the approaching Charlotte and wrestled her toward the door; for a girl presumably weak with blood-loss, she was amazingly strong. But he got her through the door and threw her out, locking it behind him. There was banging on the door, but Angel ignored it, concentrated on what was happening on the floor before him.

Buffy was astride Storm, her knee pinned in the centre of his chest; the point of her knife had already drawn blood, which oozed thickly around the tip of the blade to stain the front of his white silk shirt. For all Buffy's protestations that she'd shunned violence, she was doing an amazing impression of exactly the opposite. Storm, apparently seeing the sense of not struggling, had become suddenly passive.

"Buffy," he whispered, "marry me, sweetheart. We'd be so good tog…" A dig in the throat with her fist stopped his clever mouth.

"Shut up, okay? Just shut your smart mouth and speak to me. Do you or don't you know anything?"

"Told you. Nothing." A strangled little laugh. "But Buffy, my angel, you're overlooking the obvious, of course."

"What obvious?" Angel saw Buffy release the pressure of her hand a little, but not the knife. Not yet.

"Ask Darla."

"She's dead," Angel said; he heard the banging outside the door increase, knew that Storm's other minions - however many of them there might be - were getting ready to crash down the door. "Buffy, for God's sake, let him up…"

Buffy flicked a look at Angel and he thought for a second she might not listen. Then she stood.

"Tell them to go away," she said, gesturing with the knife. "I mean it."

Getting to his feet as though nothing had happened, Storm complied with a nonchalant shrug. Blessed silence fell after a few rapped-out words.

"Now tell me," Buffy said, "how we're supposed to speak to Darla."

"Think about it," Storm said, still playing his defiance to the hilt. Buffy frowned; Angel thought he was beginning to understand.

"Buffy, my sweetheart," Storm said. "It's so easy. Bring her back. Her spirit."

"Her spirit? Oh my God - her spirit…" Buffy's face creased in a smile and then just as suddenly a frown. "I don't know how," she said. "I mean, I can summon spirits, even bind them, but I can't command them."

Storm smiled wolfishly.

"I can," he said.

"Will you?" Buffy said. Then, reluctantly: "Please?"

"I might. But necromancy has its price, like anything else. My price, is Buffy."

Buffy shot a glance at Angel, who silently pleaded with her, and she nodded slowly.

"What price?" she asked.

Storm's smile became even more predatory.

"We've all been very patient with each other over the years, Buffy. You haven't killed us, and we haven't killed any humans, well, not any that count, anyway." He held up a hand at Buffy's attempt to interrupt. "Now, as I see it, without my say-so, you won't get any other help in this, and besides, no-one else I know is capable. So you're stuck, at least for a quick solution. So my price…"

"Is?"

"I want to change Charlotte. Allow that, and I'll help. If not… I won't. And believe me, Buffy sweetheart, you'll never find out. I'll see to it. So kill me if you like. But without me, you're lost."

xCx


	7. Chapter 7

Buffy is not mine

None of the chapters have been betad so any mistakes are mine alone!

CHAPTER SEVEN

"James, do you think me a stupid man?"

James stood before Charles Wyndham, the newly appointed Director of the Watchers' Council. Meeting the man's pale blue eyes, he kept his expression carefully neutral, despite the inner banging of his heart and the instinct that told him he was in some kind of serious trouble. And it didn't take an idiot to know _what _kind.

"Stupid, sir?" he said, willing his voice to remain steady. Wyndham's face creased into a smile, but the smile failed to reach his eyes, which remained cold and watchful.

"Yes, stupid, sir." He repeated James's words and James felt his insides crawl.

"No sir."

"No sir." Wyndham's smile widened but the eyes became frigid with displeasure. "Then why is it that I've received reports of your photocopying manuscripts to which you are not supposed to have access?"

"Manuscripts, sir?" James's voice almost faltered, and it was then that Wyndham finally showed his temper.

"Stop playing the damned fool, James!" he yelled, and James had to force himself to stand his ground; as it was, he felt his face pale. "I know what you've been doing, and I won't have it!" Wyndham sighed, took a huge breath, obviously trying to control himself. "A month ago, you might have got away with it. My predecessor had unfortunately lost sight of what was right and what was wrong, had lost touch with was happening right in front of his eyes. His death was… lamentable, but very well-timed."

Wyndham smiled his wintry smile and James thought he might vomit. What, exactly, was Wyndham trying to tell him? That the previous Director had been…? God, no. No, that was paranoia, surely?

"Now, I know I'm considered to be a hard-liner," Wyndham was saying, evidently enjoying James's obvious discomfort, "and that opinion is absolutely correct. Security has been stepped up of late, James, and you have fallen foul of it by presenting falsified access papers. Fortunately our good librarian, Smithers, saw fit to inform me. In my capacity as Director, I have a huge responsibility, and I have decided that in the fight between good and evil, there can be no more wishy-washy leniency or this deplorable tendency toward tolerance. I won't have it anymore, do you understand me?"

"Perfectly sir." James knew better than to disagree; Wyndham had taken the Director's post with full support from the Watchers' Council, and he wasn't about to contradict him. Inside though, he felt a strong loathing seed itself and begin to flourish.

"Good. I'm glad we understand each other. Now, I know you have been aiding and abetting the Summers girl and that monster, Angelus. No, James, please don't try to worm your way out of this," he said as James made to defend himself. "Frankly I'm very surprised that you thought I wouldn't find out. We members of the Council know everything, James. Haven't you come to realise that yet in all your years of working with us?"

"I…"

"Everything, right down to the contents of your dreams, James. And I do mean that literally. Your thoughts, your feelings, your desires, James, and I must say that I'm very disappointed in you. Do you want to keep your position, James?"

"Yes sir…"

"Yes sir." Wyndham waved his hand toward a chair. "You'd better sit, James. You look as though you've had a nasty shock." James moved toward the chair and almost fell into it. Dear God, nothing had prepared him for this. He _knew_ he'd been wrong to help Buffy. He'd known it, and still gone ahead. _Never again_, he thought…

"Buffy Summers has finally gone too far, James, in her desire to help Angelus. I take it that I haven't been misinformed about his current condition, that he cannot die, and that's why they are seeking to regain his humanity?"

"No sir, you haven't been misinformed."

James saw no reason to lie now; Wyndham obviously knew everything, as he'd said, although _how_ he knew was a mystery. Then he flushed with fury. Council telepaths of course. Mind-spying on him. How dare Wyndham authorise such a thing? How _dare _he? But he said nothing. Silence seemed the only option.

He waited for Wyndham to proclaim some sort of punishment. Relieving him of his post as Watcher would no doubt only be the beginning. James supposed he might well discover if there really was an Afterlife some time very soon. But Wyndham said nothing for a few moments, merely regarded James with his icy eyes from behind steepled hands. When he eventually spoke, his voice was full of unpleasant gratification.

"Well, James," he said, "I'm very glad to be able to tell you that you've greatly helped me, albeit unwittingly."

James's mouth fell open with shock.

"Helped, sir?" he managed.

"Buffy Summers has been a thorn in our side for a long time. Too long. She's outlived her usefulness - such as it has been - but she's been tolerated because of that unfortunate incident in Sunnydale." Another cold smile. "I suppose saving the world from Hell deserves some recognition. But that time is long past, and Miss Summers has since shown herself quite incapable of doing her job - her _Sacred Duty_, I might add - properly…"

"Sir, she has effected peace here. I know it's not how it's Written but…"

"There can be no peace!" Wyndham shouted, suddenly erupting with anger again. "We want no peace, James. Peace encourages complacency and we can never be complacent in our fight. Something _you_ seem to have forgotten in the past year or so. And you were so vigilant when you began, James. So upholding of the Traditions. Do they mean nothing to you now?"

"Sir," James felt himself recovering, and he managed to inject strength and sincerity into his voice. "Sir, if I have been lax of late, then of course I will do anything to rectify it."

"Anything, James?"

"Yes sir."

Wyndham appraised James for a long moment, and James made his mind blank, suddenly certain that Wyndham could read his thoughts. Wyndham nodded.

"Very well. I want you to help Miss Summers in her quest to find Angelus' humanity." Wyndham nodded again, more emphatically. "Oh yes, definitely. She will find out the truth about Darla's sire, which of course, we in the Watchers' Council already know. Not that you have been privy to such information. You haven't needed to know up until now. But we in high position know it; we know all the Old Ones. If you are to reach such exalted station, James, which, if you co-operate fully, you may yet come to obtain, then you will know too. All the secrets, James."

James felt as though he were being hypnotised; he had to force himself to drag his eyes away.

"Darla's sire is Chastaine de la Villeneuve. She currently resides in Paris, and is the High Priestess of the Cult of Set. Are you aware of such a cult?"

James raked his memory.

"Sounds familiar, sir," he said. "Originally, in Egyptian mythology, Set - or Seth, as he was also called - was the brother of the God Osiris, whom he murdered. But as far as I know, it's only a myth. So what has this to do with Chastaine de la Villeneuve?"

"Set exists, James. He is Chastaine's sire. Look it up, the legend. It is fully documented." Here Wyndham pushed a piece of paper across the desk at which he sat, toward James. "This gives you _proper_ written permission to access the archives, to remove the appropriate material. Smithers has been informed that you will be researching this, and will help you." A smile. "Saves you breaking in like a thief. When you have learned all there is to know, you will help Miss Summers and Angelus gain access to Mademoiselle de la Villeneuve, and destroy her and her sire. A dangerous and difficult task, for no doubt they are well-guarded. You can safely assume that this is the greatest test of your Watcher's knowledge and power that you will ever have to face. Do this and your future is assured."

"I don't understand how this relates to Miss Summers, other than she will aid Angelus in the destruction of a presumably ancient bloodline."

"My dear, dear James, haven't you understood me? Come now, you're not a stupid man, although you have acted stupidly of late. If you were stupid, you would never have advanced as far as you have. Ensure that the bloodline is destroyed, that Angelus returns to human form, and then ensure that Miss Summers and Angelus have… well, fatal accidents, shall we say?"

Cold sweat erupted all over James's body; he knew he should try to keep control, but what Wyndham had asked him to do revolted him, so that control was almost impossible.

"You can't be serious?" he whispered. Then he remembered his threat to Buffy, only days ago. That should she continue to be un-co-operative, she would be terminated. But God, that had only been an idle threat on his part, to make her see…

"Very serious," Wyndham affirmed. "I told you. Miss Summers has reached the end of her useful life. And Angelus… Well, the world will be a better place without him. He's caused us more than enough trouble in the past, and the time has come for him to pay."

"But murder, sir…"

"It's been done before, James, and it'll be done again. The status quo must be returned, and this is the only way. Now, are you up to it, James, or will it be necessary to find an… inducement to help you make up your mind?"

"Inducement, sir?" _Oh Jesus…_

"How _is_ your wife, Helen? Doing well, is she? Recovering? It would be such a shame if she should… Well… _Suffer_ again. After so many years… In the same way as before, James. In the way that made you open to us in the first place."

"You wouldn't," James said, his voice barely audible; somehow, the words just didn't seem to want to come. "That would be… be against everything this organisation stands for."

"Sometimes, James, you have to bend the rules to fit your own plans. Helen nearly died last time, James. Do you want her to die? And come back? And die again?" Wyndham watched James's face carefully, saw the horror. "No. Of course you don't. But of course, not co-operating would never cross your mind, would it now, my dear James?"

"Absolutely not, sir." The image of his wife's tortured body rose from his memories, memories he had tried to submerge and drown. His wife of barely a year… His _pregnant_ wife of barely a year…He saw the bite marks covering her body, saw her terrified eyes, eyes that would soon dim to the blankness of catatonia, her mind as dead as the child inside her. Eyes that had never regained their sparkle, despite years of treatment in the expensive nursing home she'd been put in. Dear God, ten years… "No sir," he repeated, and felt defeat crush him.

"Good man. Now, we have arranged for another Slayer to come here in Miss Summers' absence. She has been fully trained from the age of five years old, and comes from the Japanese culture, a culture that understands the concept of absolute duty and loyalty. Her name is Akira Misao, and she and her Watcher will be brought to London as soon as you have left the country with Miss Summers and Angelus. Her first job will be to wipe out every single vampire in London. Including, and especially, Storm, who has become much too confident and sure of his immortality in recent months. Anything to say, James?"

"Supposing I'm killed before we can kill Chastaine or Set?" James tried not to think of the threat, only of his assignment. Anything else and he'd go crazy.

"Well, if that happens, make sure you at least take Miss Summers with you." Wyndham seemed unperturbed at the thought of James's death, but then, James had, during this ghastly conversation, come to believe that Wyndham cared nothing for individuals, as long as the Council retained its authority. Oh, but hadn't he always known it, in some deep dark recess of his mind? But they'd seduced him, hadn't they, with murmured promises of revenge for Helen? Of how he could become a Flaming Brand of Goodness. Of how it was destined…

But Wyndham had wiped all that away now. Despite his mouthings about Sacred Duty and Good and Evil, James thought that Wyndham - and perhaps - _probably_ - the rest of the Council - was every bit as cruel and wicked as the vampires and other creatures of darkness they had been appointed to fight.

Had it always been like this? James wondered. Had he been so duty-bound himself, so brainwashed, that he hadn't seen it? No. More likely, he hadn't wanted to see it. And he didn't want to see it now. How could an organisation that held itself up as the Guardians of Mankind behave in such an immoral way? To remove Angelus was understandable; James could almost applaud that, although he deplored the method. But to remove Buffy…? Buffy, who despite her wilful and open disregard of the Council, still fought evil in her own way and had, James reluctantly admitted to himself now it was too late, succeeded in forging a truce which had been deemed impossible.

But he kept the thoughts locked up in his mind, careful not to allow their surfacing, just in case Wyndham could read his thoughts. How could he, in all conscience, allow his wife to suffer more? He was all she had, even though they could never have a marriage in anything but name. Helen didn't even recognise him when he visited…

"Well, James?" Wyndham's voice seemed to come from a long way away. "You've gone very quiet."

"Just thinking, sir. This is a difficult assignment I've been handed."

"I'm quite sure you won't let me down, will you, James?"

A silent moment as they regarded each other. James became more determined that Wyndham should not see how defeated he felt. How… utterly impotent.

"Very well, sir," he said, willing the strength to say the words. "Anything you say."

"Are you quite sure, James?" Wyndham's eyes bored into his.

"Absolutely sir. You're quite right, of course. I have forgotten my own duties of late." James managed a faint smile of his own. "I won't forget them again."

More appraisal from Wyndham, until James felt as though his brain might explode with the pressure of keeping his thoughts private. Finally, Wyndham smiled, apparently satisfied.

"All right, James. You may go." James stood. "And James, whatever your reservations, and I appreciate that you must have some, do your duty in the knowledge that it's for the best."

"Yes sir."

James left the room, knowing that Windham's eyes were following his every move. When he shut the door behind him, he leaned against the wall, eyes closed, aware that if he didn't, he might well collapse.

Kill Buffy, he thought. Could he do it?

Closing his eyes, breathing deeply against oncoming faintness, he knew there was no choice.

xCx


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

When Buffy and Angel returned from Storm's home, dawn was almost lightening the sky. The night had been long, the raising and binding of Darla's reluctant spirit exhausting. They had the information they needed, but the cost was high. The emptiness in their hearts was only a small part of it; Darla's rising had left a sense of malevolent pollution in their souls that would take a long time to disperse.

"Are you going to let it happen?" Angel enquired as Buffy opened the front door of Giles' house (after all this time, she still never thought of it as her own). She turned to look at him; in the pre-light of the coming dawn he looked grey, almost sick. She shrugged, knowing he was referring to the promise made to Storm and Charlotte.

"Depends," she replied, unwilling to get drawn into a conversation when she was so bone-tired. "If they continue to help, then maybe…" She frowned, held up a hand for silence, walked through to the lounge. Saw James sitting in one of the old armchairs, a glass of brandy in his hand. "What are you doing here?" Suddenly her exhaustion had faded; anger took its place. How dare James let himself into her only sanctuary?

James smiled, waved his brandy glass in her direction. Quite obviously he was drunk; a new phenomenon. Buffy had never seen James drunk before; had never seen him drink more than a small glass of wine. So what was up?

"Buffy! Angel!" James stood, his smile became wider. Buffy took a step backward, Angel merely glowered. "Did you have a productive evening?"

"What?" Did James know? Oh stupid, stupid. Of _course_ he knew. The man knew everything. Quite unlike poor dear Giles, who, despite his great knowledge of vampires and the occult, had remained naive in the ways of the real world. This man made Giles seem like a rank amateur.

James almost fell back into his chair. He began mumbling in a low voice.

"I've had a productive evening myself," he was saying. Buffy looked at Angel, who returned her troubled glance with a frown. "Oh yes, _very_ productive, and I've come to a decision, my dear, dear Buffy… and Angel, of course… I'm responsible for you, Buffy. For your very life. So I can't, in all conscience, allow you to do this without me. I am, after all, your Watcher…"

"James…" Buffy found herself almost frightened; this inebriated… devotion… was so unlike James, so out of character.

"No, Buffy." James took a huge gulp of the brandy. "I've failed you up until now, you know. Yes, failed. I admit it. I've discouraged and attempted to stop everything you've tried to do. Well, I was wrong." James stood and walked unsteadily toward Buffy, laid his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. Mesmerised with amazement, and a kind of wondering horror, Buffy only stood there, breathing in liquor fumes, aware that Angel stood tense and angry behind them. "Yes, I was wrong. But I'll take care of you from now on." He leaned closer, nearly touching her face with his. "Let me help you, Buffy? Please?"

Buffy found the strength to pull away; she almost fled to Angel's side, although why she should go to him, she didn't know. Confused and dazed, she had no idea of what was happening, except her insides were churning at James's bizarre behaviour. Oh, what he said was logical enough; he _was_ responsible for her safety and guidance. But this drunkenness… This… She didn't know what to call it.

"James…" she began, not sure how to handle this. "James, you've always encouraged me to do the right thing and I've always pushed you away because I only wanted to listen to myself…"

"And you were right." Another gulp of brandy. How much, Buffy wondered, had he consumed, to be in this state?

"If you help me in this, you'll be betraying the Watchers' Council…"

She was quite unprepared for his reaction. Turning almost too fast to see, James hurled the brandy glass into the fireplace, where it shattered into a million crystal pieces.

"God _damn_ the Watchers' Council!" he screamed. Then, almost as though someone had cut strings that were holding him up, he fell to his knees, landing amongst the broken glass. Blood from several minor cuts flowed at once. Adding to the general chaos, Buffy heard a low animal sound coming from Angel. Having scented blood, he was restless and edgy. Buffy felt like laughing, but knew if she started, she'd never stop. In all the years since she'd been the Slayer, she'd never felt so close to madness.

"Angel, get out of here." She glared at Angel, who glared back, his face rippling, starting to show the demon. "Angel, get out! Get out, or I swear I'll… I'll…"

Exactly what, she had no idea, but she didn't have to finish the sentence. Angel had gone; a moment later she heard heavy thuds - things being thrown - from upstairs. Obviously Angel was wreaking his own havoc. Well, let him. He'd get over it. Now she knelt beside James, who was moaning softly to himself, making no attempt to stem the blood-flow from a dozen wounds.

"I'll clean you up," she said, and went to get water and antiseptic.

When it was finished, she helped a by-now semi-conscious James onto the couch.

"Help you, Buffy," he whispered, and then passed out. Buffy sat in a chair opposite him, watching for a while, before her eyes closed in utter exhaustion. When she woke, James was gone.

By the time he returned it was dark again. Buffy had been awake an hour, and Angel had left the house. He had to think, he said, but Buffy knew what that meant. Although she guessed he'd eventually slept, Buffy knew the blood-lust would still be raging within him. He wouldn't kill anyone, she knew; his conscience stricken soul wouldn't allow that. She only hoped he didn't hurt his victim, and supposed she should go out after him. But God, she had no energy.

When James finally returned, he looked terrible; his eyes, red-rimmed, were sunken into his head, his face was pale and stubbled with a dark growth of beard; he could barely look her in the eye. He carried his briefcase, which he flung on the table.

"Angel here?" he said; back to his old, abrupt manner, Buffy noted. She didn't know whether to feel relief or annoyance.

"No. James…"

"Sorry about earlier," he said, still not looking at her. "Don't know what came over me."

"James, I…"

"Now, about me helping you…"

"You don't have to…"

"I'm going to. You need me, Buffy." He did look up now; the expression in his eyes, the determination there, terrified her. Had he gone quite mad?

"They'll… they'll… stop you. The Watchers' Council." She waited for another outburst but it didn't come.

"By the time they find out, we'll be long gone. Now do you want my help or not?" An abrupt change of track. Buffy shrugged, nodded.

"I guess… What do you know?" she asked, that uneasy feeling still squirming within her. She didn't mind risking her own life - God knew, she'd done that enough times, and death held little fear for her. As for Angel, well, he couldn't die. But James… She didn't want to be responsible for him. Then she shrugged. It was up to him, she supposed, if he wanted to risk his job, and maybe his life, for her sake.

James as unloading sheaves of paper onto the coffee table.

"When Angel comes back," he said, "I'll tell you."

They sat in uncomfortable silence until Angel returned. Buffy noted how good he looked again, how…_ healthy…_ Only one thing could have produced that bloom in his cheeks, but she said nothing. James, sitting opposite, said nothing either. Instead, he pulled the papers toward him.

"After I woke," he began, "I went to the Research Library again. Been there hours, looking for what we needed. I found out what you no doubt found out last night, about Darla's sire. About Chastaine de la Villeneuve." His mouth twitched in a faint smile as he saw their expressions. "What, you think such information isn't there? Don't you know by now that we have all important vampires on record? Including your good self, Angel." Well, yes, they had known that but… "Could have saved yourself an unpleasant encounter; calling the dead isn't exactly an uplifting experience, is it?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Chastaine's sire is called Set. Have you heard of him?"

Buffy remained silent; the names was merely something out of mythology to her. Roman, was it? Maybe Greek…?

"Set was the Egyptian God of death and darkness." Angel spoke into the silence. "He was said to have murdered his brother, Osiris, who was the God of Light and Love. I have heard that Set was one of the first vampires, but no-one could ever say either way if such a thing was true. Certainly, Darla never knew. Her relationship with Chastaine was apparently very short and very sweet. If you can believe what her spirit told us."

"If she was bound, she couldn't lie, now could she?" James clashed eyes with Angel for a second, then smiled again, nodded. "Chastaine herself is a very interesting character. Apparently very beautiful, she is over one thousand years old." Buffy heard herself gasp involuntarily. She had never heard of a vampire that old; hadn't known they existed, except in vague legend. "Naturally, she is very strong. Killing her will be a great feat in itself, but it won't be enough, if we are to believe what is written. Her exact location is a mystery. I only know that she resides in Paris, and that she is the High Priestess of the Cult of Set. You, Angel, have heard correctly. Set _is_ a vampire, and it was thought until recently that he had been destroyed. However information that we Watchers have recently acquired tells us otherwise. He is in a state of torpor, however. His great age has sapped his bodily strength, and he has been in torpor for almost one hundred years. Chastaine guards him, and initiates followers to his worship, either by making new vampires or by indoctrinating existing vampires to his ways, which are violent by anyone's standards."

"You seem to know an awful lot about this," Angel remarked, "considering the short length of time you've had to find out." Buffy felt he sounded bitter, or jealous, maybe both. James shrugged.

"All the legends and knowledge are in the Research Library," he said. "And I've become quite good at obtaining the information I need, one way or another."

"Sounds almost too good to be true," Angel growled. James turned sunken blue eyes on him.

"Don't you trust me?" His voice was mild.

"I wouldn't trust anyone who had anything to do with the Watchers' Council," he said flatly, "after what almost happened to Buffy before…"

"Angel, he can help us," Buffy broke in, but James began shuffling papers, reached down for his briefcase.

"I'll just leave you to it then, shall I?" he said. Buffy felt sudden panic.

"I don't think we can do this without you," she said. "Angel, do you really want your humanity back?"

Angel closed his eyes, ran his hands across his face, sank back into his chair.

"Of course I do."

"I know you don't like me," James was saying. "I don't much like you either. What you were, and what you still are, disgusts me. But Buffy, against my better judgement, and with little thought for her own safety, is willing to risk everything for you. God knows why, because I certainly don't. She's the _only_ reason I'm willing to help you. You could rot in the body that's become your Hell for all I care. But if you don't want my help, then I'll walk out of here and you'll be on your own. Up to you."

Angel appeared to be struggling within himself. Buffy detached herself from the conflict. It was, as James had said, up to him. If he rejected James's offer, she was unsure of how to proceed. She might not understand James's true motives - she guessed there was more to it than just concern for her - but she had come to understand that this was far more complicated than she'd ever imagined. They needed James; simple as that.

And if Angel just changed his mind altogether, after everything he'd told her about suffering and pain and wanting to make amends, then she'd order him out of her life. She believed that after all the sacrifices she'd made, and all the heartache she'd endured from the very first time she'd seen him, she might just damage him. Not kill him of course, but hurt him…

"All right," Angel said. "I don't like it, but I'll accept it."

James held Angel's stare for a long moment, then he nodded.

"Good," he said. He looked at his watch. "I took the liberty of booking three seats on the first night plane to Paris tomorrow." He smiled at the incredulous faces before him. "What are we waiting for?" he said, as though nothing had happened. "We've got a lot to get through before then."

And turned back to the papers on the table.

xCx


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

Getting into Paris at nine p.m., their first line of action was to find a hotel. Not surprisingly, finding a place that had three single rooms at that time of night was difficult. Three hours later, after tramping around what seemed like every street in the centre of Paris - another rainy city, it seemed - they eventually found what they required in a seedy establishment near Montmartre.

"Tomorrow," Angel said, fingering his room key, looking around the lobby with distaste, "we can go and find something better." He glanced at James as though the lowliness of their accommodation was his fault.

"We're not here to live in luxury," James snapped. "We're here to help _you_, never forget that. I…"

"I'm not worried about myself," Angel said. "But Buffy doesn't deserve to stay in a flophouse like this. It's…"

"All we could get," James pointed out. "And…"

"Hey!" Buffy shouted; her nerves were stretched taut, and she was tired. These two fighting over what they thought was best for her finally made her snap. "You know, I can do without you acting all macho over what's best for me, okay?" She turned on Angel. "James is right, it doesn't matter where we stay." She saw James smirk and flared at him. "And you - stop treating Angel as though he's some kind of leper, okay? You want to help, you help, but quit fighting. I'm sick of it. We'll be up against enough problems without fighting amongst ourselves."

Without waiting for a reply, she walked off without another word, intending to locate her room. When she got there, her heart sank. A single lumpy bed sat in a room with damp wallpaper that had almost peeled away from the wall in places. The carpet was threadbare. Buffy threw her sparsely packed bag onto the bed, which creaked, and had to admit that James was right: the place was a dump. But no way was she going to make a fuss about it. She was the Slayer, right? She could put up with a little discomfort. She…

There was a bang on the door. _Angel or James,_ she thought.

"Yeah. It's open."

Angel walked into the room, and Buffy smirked to herself, thought again that Angel might be well over two hundred years old but he was still predictable, just like any other man. She stared at him, part of her feeling sorry for the way she'd snapped before, part of her irritated that he thought he could just come into her life and disrupt it. But she'd allowed it, after all.

"Hey, I'm sorry, okay?" He made no move to go to her. "I guess we just spark each other the wrong way, James and me." A pause, then: "He's jealous, Buffy."

"Don't be ridiculous." Buffy laughed; the sound was nervous and false. "No way. James doesn't even like me very much…"

"Yeah. He does. He more than likes you, Buffy…"

"Angel, that's insane." Buffy decided to change the way this conversation was going. "And even if it was true, well, he has nothing to be jealous of, does he?"

Angel stared at her; as always, when he looked at her like that, she felt the pull and magnetism that had always made her weak. Forcing herself to look away, she shook her head.

"No," she mumbled, answering her own question, concentrating fiercely on unpacking her few belongings. "No, he doesn't."

"Buffy…" Angel began, then, as if knowing they'd been talking about him, James rapped on the door.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said, looking from one to the other. "But we have a lot to cover before morning."

Buffy felt relief sweep through her; she didn't want to get involved with Angel again. No way. Putting Angel's words about James's jealousy out of her head, she turned to him and smiled brightly.

"Let's get on with it then," she said, and ignored Angel's obvious irritation.

James shut the door, sat on the lumpy bed.

"All right, we know that Set is kept by Chastaine somewhere in this city. Unfortunately, we don't know exactly where. There's something else, something I forgot to mention in my haste to get you here. Set can only be killed by one weapon. It was said to have been forged out of purest gold by Isis, who was the dead Osiris's widow, but legend has it that it was stolen by Set's followers, who knew its powers. This sword is called the Sun Sword, and I have no idea of its location."

"Oh well, that's just great," Angel said; despite Buffy's earlier protests that he stopped antagonising James, his tone dripped with sarcasm. James, however, seemed not to notice, or if he did, he said nothing.

"If we don't have this Sun Sword," Buffy said, "then exactly how are we to carry on?"

"Well, I have a theory, and I believe it's sound," James replied. "If Set's followers stole the sword in the first place, then I would imagine they still have it. After all, better to have such a weapon oneself; then it would be less likely to fall into the hands of enemies. So I'm assuming that Chastaine herself guards it."

"Okay. Sounds logical," Buffy agreed; she looked to Angel who shrugged, then nodded reluctantly. "Of course if she doesn't, and we find her, and we have no way of defending ourselves…"

"Well, yes, there is that possibility," James agreed. "But this is where your… individuality and lack of respect for tradition will come in handy, Buffy. This is one time where your seeing things differently might well be useful." James grinned, but it was a strange grin, lacking in humour, and Buffy shivered. Sometimes, she thought, not for the first time in recent days, James frightened her. "Anyway," James continued, the smile wiped from his face in a second, "we won't discover anything by sitting in here. We need to locate Chastaine, and the only way to do that is to go on the streets and find the local vampires."

"Sounds great," Buffy said, with no enthusiasm whatever.

"Buffy, these vampires aren't like the ones in London, remember," James cautioned. "They don't know you, and they won't like your intrusion into their previously Slayer-free environment. You may actually have to _be_ the Slayer, and slay."

Buffy fingered the silver knife she always carried; so much better than a stake, she'd found; stakes were outdated, like most things the Council advocated. A stiletto blade did the job much more efficiently.

"Yeah," she said, looking at Angel, wondering why she was prepared to kill for his sake. "Yeah, I'll slay. They sound like a bad bunch anyway, Set's followers." She stood. "So let's go."

"I'll come with you, Buffy," James said. "Angel can go alone. He's stronger than both of us put together."

"You have a weapon, James?" Buffy asked. James pulled a sheathed knife from inside his jacket. When he unsheathed it, a stiletto similar to Buffy's was revealed.

"Yes," James said, fingering the blade. "Yes, I have a weapon. Don't worry about me, I can take care of myself."

Buffy bit back a remark about James's being _soo_ manly; in light of what Angel had said before about James's jealousy, she decided she didn't want to encourage him. Not that she believed Angel of course, but still…

"Will you be okay, Angel?" Buffy said, seeing Angel's glowering face. "James is right. We should go separately, we'll find out more that way."

"I don't like it, but okay."

"We'll meet back here at daybreak," James said. "Come, Buffy. Angel. Let's get on with it."

Outside, the drizzle hadn't improved. Angel watched as Buffy and James disappeared into the darkness of an alleyway, and felt the jealousy and resentment in his heart grow. Soul or no soul, he'd like to kill James; he hated him with almost as much passion as he loved Buffy. He found himself suddenly missing Giles: he had been a proper Watcher: fatherly toward Buffy, understanding toward Angel himself. Best of all, Giles had harboured no hidden desires toward his charge. And as for Buffy, what was she thinking? Once, Angel could read her, almost know her exact thoughts. Not anymore; she was keeping herself closed to him; closed entirely, in fact. Not allowing anyone see inside her. Had the final closing of the Hellmouth been so terrible, so traumatic, that she no longer allowed herself close connections? He guessed from what she'd told him that was the case. If this succeeded, he told himself, then he would do everything he could to get her to open to him. If this succeeded, maybe they'd have the chance of being together that they'd lost before.

Angel found himself walking toward the centre of Paris. He knew Paris well enough, having spent some time here during his previous, unsouled existence. Over a hundred years ago now. He had sampled its delights, its decadence, and revelled in its slums, taking its women, in more ways than one; laid in wait for its men, taking delight in challenging all and sundry to outmoded duels that they nonetheless were powerless to resist. And when the first blood flowed… Ah… Bliss… Sharing it first with his other love, his dead sire, Darla. Then with mad Drusilla, and occasionally, her child, the violent yet amusing Spike.

Angel shook his head to dispel the images. Not so loveable or amusing now, were they, his wayward child and grandchild? If he were to find them now, he would kill them, as he should have before, as he had Darla. Rid the world of two killers that would be better off properly dead.

But Drusilla and Spike weren't his problem now; finding a vampire - any vampire - was. But his senses could detect nothing; no vampire activity anywhere as far as he could tell. He wondered if Buffy and James were having better luck.

He'd reached the banks of the Seine now; despite the drizzle, it was beautiful in the faint gleam of the night lights. Always romantic, the Seine, Angel reflected, with almost nostalgic pain for his previous existence. No pain then, he decided. No conflict. Just being evil for the sake of it, with no soul speaking up, constantly telling him it was wrong. Oh, it _had _been wrong, he knew, and he would never want to behave in that way again, with no regard for the sanctity of life, but it had been simple. Easy. Almost pure.

Looking around, he saw there were very few people around. The occasional pair of lovers come to sample the romance of late night Paris; a couple of drunks; a tramp sprawled drunk against a lamp-post. There were more cars than humans, and he found the noise intrusive. He decided to go down the steps, right to the river's edge.

Down here, it was quieter. Angel looked in both directions, saw little sign of life. Above him, the constant hum of traffic, muted now, continued. He wondered if the local vampires were simply in hiding, avoiding him if they happened to see him. Angel knew that that was like; concealing yourself from someone until you wanted them to see you, usually when it was too late for them to flee. If he hadn't wanted to be detected, then he wouldn't be.

He decided to walk on, toward Notre Dame, smiling as the great monument to God came closer. Then stopped under one of the bridges, suddenly feeling his skin crawl. Watched as a figure drifted toward him from out of the shadows. A slight figure dressed in a cowled cloak, so that not even its head was visible. A vampire figure, Angel knew at once, who had perhaps been waiting for him… _Waiting?_ he wondered. _Waiting?_

"Angel," the figure said, a woman's voice, sweet and mellow, with a French accent. She pronounced his name _Ahn-jel,_ and Angel felt his head swim. The woman let the cowl fall from her head; she was about twenty years old to look at, with porcelain white skin, and hair the colour of russet autumn leaves. In her delicate face, green eyes burned, held his. "I knew you were coming, Angel. I had visions of you."

"Dreamed…?" Angel tried to clear his head, but this creature had him bound. _Spellbound,_ he thought, dreamily.

"_Mais oui,_" But yes, as though it was the most natural thing in the world that a stranger should dream of another's arrival. "You don't know me, Angel?" Again that bewitching pronunciation of his name. "You should, we share blood, you and I."

"Blood?" The word conjured up pictures in his mind. Pictures of willing victims come into his embrace; the sweet scent and taste of warm scarlet fluid; the sensation of power… Desperate, he tried to force the images away, but the beauty before him smiled, held his gaze, and he could not escape.

"You think she really wants to help you, Angel, this Slayer? You think she cares, when her heart is really with the human man, the one who calls himself her Watcher, but who is, in his soul, her lover?"

"Nooo," moaned Angel; inside he knew it was untrue, that this… witch… was using his own fears against him. But knowing and imagining… They were different.

"Come with me, Angel, be my child, as you have always been. You are Darla's child, yes? The one you murdered?"

"Yes… But you're not Darla… I saw her die; I saw her spirit… She's dead…"

"_Oui,_ dead. We loved for a while, Darla and I, until we went our separate ways. She made you, Angel, and I made her. I am Chastaine de la Villeneuve, and I offer you back the Dark that you have lost."

"_Chastaine_?" Ah, but hadn't he known, somewhere inside? He had to get away from her before she killed him…

"Kill you, Angel?" Chastaine laughed, the sound of sweet music. "_Non, _not kill you." She ran her finger across her neck; dark blood flowed at once. "Come to me, Angel. I can lift your affliction. I can take your cursed soul and you need never worry about being human again." She smiled as Angel moaned; the scent of her blood, rich and powerful, was driving him mad. "Drink, Angel," she said, and put a hand to the back of his head, pulled her toward him.

And Angel tasted the blood of pure evil, and was instantly lost.

xCx


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

Buffy and James stood side by side in a blind alley, backs against the wall, fighting for their lives. Blocking their way, inhuman and growling, a gang of three vampires, their faces twisted with blind hate. And the desire to kill.

There had been six at first, all converging upon them at once, seeming to materialise from the very air around them. Not even Buffy, whose senses were more finely attuned than most humans, had known they were coming. One minute they weren't there, the next they… _were_.

But Buffy was quick, James almost as fast, to react to the ambush. Hand to hand fighting at first; a well placed kick here, an accurately placed punch there, feeling undead flesh give under her superior bodily strength, which she was more than glad she'd kept up to standard. And it felt good, didn't it, to stop thinking and give herself up to pure physicality? To forget what was morally right and wrong for once and just act.

The vampires were strong; certainly stronger than she and James put together. Six against two weren't good odds at best. Buffy had pressed the little button in her hand and the stiletto had slid into her hand; its weight was comforting and she held it out before her. Despite the poor illumination, the silver gleamed like holy fire.

_I'll show James Sacred Duty,_ she thought grimly, seeing the nearest vampire's face change, seeing fear in his yellow eyes. With a scream, she leapt forward, feeling her power flow through her hand into the knife, so that her life became part of it. A thrust of deadly accuracy and the first one was dispatched, blowing into a cloud of dust that smelt of the death and decay that the creature was.

In the meantime, James had taken the slight breathing space to draw his own weapon. A cry of triumph and another dust cloud told her he'd been successful. She took a second to glance back; James had been transformed from the uptight man he normally was into some kind of war machine. His face was contorted with an emotion she'd never seen there before: pure loathing. Sweat poured from his brow; his dark hair hung over his forehead; his body was held tense and waiting, and she was aware, for the first time, of a muscular strength beneath the slim exterior.

Too long, that glance; she felt an arm go round her neck; heard words whispered in her ear in French that she didn't understand but grasped the meaning of all too clearly. She was going to die. James was grappling with his own assailant, a huge beast who snarled with all the ferocity of a wild Rottweiler with rabies. No help there.

As she smelt the foul breath of the vampire that held her, Buffy decided to let herself go limp. Better than fighting, when fighting wouldn't help. So she feigned faintness, falling forward against the brute's arm. She waited, hoping against hope that she hadn't misjudged it, until she felt cold breath on her neck, cold spittle and the sharp imprint of teeth. She heard James yell to her in desperation, saw him slam his stiletto into his opponent's chest, saw the beast explode as the blade hit home.

_Three now,_ she thought hazily, watching James try to get to her as though he moved in slow motion. Then the pinprick of teeth, James yelling more, distracting her. But the moment was now, right now, and she thrust upward with her knife hand, felt silver sink into the vampire's face. Screaming, he fell away from her, clutching the wound she'd made, leaving her holding the knife for just a second before she sprang forward, knocked the howling vampire to the floor and plunged her knife into his heart. Seconds later, she was kneeling on cold pavement.

She grinned, looked at the remaining two opponents, who had lost much of their fight.

"Four down," she whispered, feeling the adrenaline pump through her, making her heart race and her need to kill these two urgent. She fought the killing urge; had to make at least one of them talk. Slowly she rose to her feet; James was beside her and they advanced on the two vampires.

"I'm going to let one of you live," she said, having no idea if they understood, but vaguely hearing James translate her words into perfect French, something else she had no idea he could do. "One of you's going to give me the information I want. Okay?" With that she moved quicker, and the vampires made to flee. The swifter of the two ran off.

"Let him go," she told James, who went to pursue him. "If he's from Chastaine, he can tell her we want her…" Was that sensible? She found she didn't care about sensible right then. "Help me catch this one."

"This one" - the slower to react - was also preparing to take to his heels, obviously knowing when his luck had run out. Buffy was faster thinking though; she second- guessed his actions and brought him down with a flying tackle that brought his legs from under him. Although he struggled under her, Buffy's strength seemed phenomenal tonight, and she held him fast.

"James," she snapped. "Hold him down, I want to question him."

James came forward, breathing heavily. Buffy saw that the front of his shirt was stained red; somehow, he'd been injured, but he didn't seem to notice any pain. Pain would come later, she guessed. It usually did. James took her place, rolled the struggling vampire over so he was on his front, and pulled his arms behind his back. Then he rolled him over again; now the vampire's arms were effectively useless. Putting an arm around the vampire's neck, in a similar fashion to the vampire that had almost killed Buffy earlier, James held him tight. Buffy sat on his legs in a way that meant escape was impossible. She waved the stiletto in the vampire's face, who moaned.

"Yeah, you feel it, right?" Buffy said. "This knife's made from blessed silver. Holy silver. If it touches you, it'll burn you." The vampire looked blank, apart from his obvious revulsion to the knife. "Translate," she snapped at James, who began to speak quickly in French. "Now, do you know Chastaine de la Villeneuve?"

"_Non…_" In response to James, who jerked his head back unnecessarily hard, causing a fit of pained choking.

"I don't believe you." Buffy put the tip of the knife to the vampire's face, which began smoking; when she removed the knife, Buffy saw a small hole eroded into the skin. The vampire was howling in agony, and James clapped a hand over his mouth. "You can save yourself a lot of grief if you just tell me." The vampire shook his head, and his feral eyes rolled. Buffy sighed. "Is she so bad you'd sooner face this than tell me?" With "this" Buffy brought the knife down again, harder, and a bloodless wound opened in the vampire's face, adding to the terrible hole that was even now spreading. The vampire began screaming through James's fingers, babbling like a child.

"He says he'll tell," James told Buffy with a faint grin. She felt his free hand go around the hand that held the knife. "Ease up, all right?"

"Yeah… Yeah… okay."

The vampire was positively spewing words now. James was nodding and frowning. When he'd finished, James fired off a few rapid questions, and the vampire, eyeing Buffy's knife, answered them equally rapidly. When it was finished, James nodded.

"He's told me enough, for now," he said, and Buffy held his eyes for a few seconds, then the vampire gave a final cry as she reduced him to dust. James fell back against the wet grimy pavement with a groan and lay still for a few moments. When had recovered enough to talk, he said: "I think we can go back now."

They got back to their hotel, unhindered by further assault, at around four am. The desk man eyed them strangely but said nothing about James's bloodstained clothes, or their general state of disarray, although Buffy knew they must look terrible. Already she could feel a bruise raising itself around her right eye, and her body ached all over. Soon she could sleep. Better see to James first.

"I didn't know you could fight like that," she told James when they got inside his room. "I kind of thought… Well… I don't know…"

"There's a lot about me you don't know," he mumbled, pulling off his jacket and letting it drop to the floor. In the stark overhead light, Buffy saw that the front of his shirt was drenched in blood; a rip across his upper chest - certainly from a vampire claw - showed her where it was coming from.

"That looks bad," she said.

"Feels bad," James agreed; his pale skin looked waxy, and he began to shake hard; delayed reaction. Buffy guided him toward his bed - every bit as lumpy, she noticed, as her own - and he collapsed onto it, eyes closed. Buffy went to him; couldn't leave him like this.

"Let me look," she said. He made no move to stop her as she began unbuttoning his shirt, but moaned in pain as she uncovered the slash - fully three inches long - on his upper chest. The claw had cut its way through a significant part of the pectoral muscle, and looked like it needed stitching. Not only that, the skin around the edges of the wound appeared somehow blistered, almost as though they were corrupted by some kind of poison. "Got to get you to a hospital, James," she said. He shook his head; his eyes remained closed.

"No. Not practical."

"James, it needs stitching up…"

"You do it."

"_What_?" Buffy had never heard anything like it. "James, I _can't_ do that… Besides, we don't have the right stuff…"

"_I_ do," James said. He opened eyes that were blurred with pain. "And there's something else you have to do, too."

"What?" Buffy felt panic rise. Oh, she could dust a few vampires, but put her here with an injured man and she went to pieces. "What, James?"

"Seal the wound with silver - the blessed silver of your knife. It's… it's the only way to cleanse a vampire wound, Buffy. That or holy water. God, it's basic stuff and you should know it…"

She nodded; yes she'd known that, just hadn't thought in the turmoil of the last few moments. God knew, Giles had told her often enough that if she ever received a wound from a vampire, she should cleanse it with a blessed item of some kind. That was what the blistered edges around the wound were; pure physical evil seeping into the flesh…

"It'll hurt," she said lamely.

"For God's sake," James muttered, "don't go all girly on me now. Just do it. Then I'll tell you how to stitch it."

With shaking hands, Buffy took her knife and began to bring it down. James stayed her hand.

"Wait…" He gathered up a handful of none too clean sheet and stuffed it into his mouth, obviously to muffle any cries he might make. He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. Buffy brought down the knife, and there was the hiss of metal against skin, as it burned and purified. James bit down on the fabric, writhing with pain; cold sweat poured from his head and broke out over his body, but he never tried to stop her. When Buffy had finished, the wound, although still raw and dribbling blood, had lost its inflamed, infected look.

"Well done…" James managed; he took a huge shuddering breath. "Now for the stitching. In my bag, you'll find a complete first aid kit. Stitching the wound will just have to be bringing the edges together for now, all right? It'll serve until… until this is over…"

"James, I have to tell you, Home Ec was never my strong point in High School." Buffy tried to make a joke of it as she rummaged in James's hold-all and found what she needed. "I mean, I can't even sew on a button…"

"Just as well I'm not asking you to do that then, isn't it?" James said, his tone curt with pain. "And you're not a schoolgirl anymore. Now, enough talking. Just follow my instructions."

Half an hour later - half an hour of cursing from Buffy and stoic instruction from an increasingly agonised James - it was done. Not perfect by any means but enough to put him back in action and prevent any more blood-loss. By then, it was five am, almost dawn.

"You've been quite amazing," James said; Buffy, vastly relieved, noticed he looked slightly better; at least, his face had more colour and his rapid breathing had slowed. "I take back everything bad I've ever said about you, Buffy. The Council is…" He stopped, shook his head, smiled. "Doesn't matter," he said.

"It's okay. Look, James, I've been wrong too. I mean, I thought you were just an ultra-stuffy Englishman - even stuffier than Giles. I thought… I don't know, you were just a millstone around my neck before. But I'm seeing a different James lately and tonight you were… Well, you were amazing too, okay? I don't know why you're helping me - and Angel, despite your dislike of him - and you're going to be in terrible trouble when we get back - _if_ we get back - and… Well… Just thanks, okay?"

On impulse she leaned forward and smoothed away the stray lock of hair that had flopped over his forehead. James caught her hand.

"Don't you _know_ why I'm here with you?" he said. Buffy shook her head instantly, but she _did_ know. Angel had told her and now she saw it with her own eyes. Confusion flared as she suddenly realised the thought didn't repel her anymore. James struggled to sit up; he put a hand to the back of her neck, as he had the time he was drunk… _Only two days ago,_ Buffy thought, dazed with unidentifiable emotions. His face was close, his lips almost touching hers. Suddenly desperate for physical comfort and closeness, Buffy closed her eyes, decided to go with the flow.

Then the door crashed open, destroying the moment.

"Well, well," Angel said, his voice like ice. "How very touching."

xCx


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Hope you enjoy!

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Seeing Angel silhouetted in the doorframe, his face a mask of barely disguised revulsion, Buffy jumped away from James like she'd been electrified. Why she should act in that way was a mystery to her; other than her promise to help him, she owed Angel nothing. He'd left her alone to sink or swim all those years ago, when he'd professed to love her, so what gave him the right to act as though he owned her now? On the other hand, she was almost glad of his interruption. Who knew what might have happened between her and James if he hadn't arrived when he did? The last thing Buffy wanted was a complicated relationship - with anyone.

James rose to his feet, bent with some difficulty and picked up his ruined shirt, put it over his ruined torso. He gave no indication that he was angry or disappointed; he showed no emotion whatever.

_Back to normal,_ thought Buffy, somewhat disgusted that James was acting as though the last few moments had meant nothing.

_Don't you _know_ why I'm here?_ he'd asked, that intense look in his eyes, a look, Buffy had to admit, that had melted her resolve and reserve utterly, something she would never have believed possible. And now… Now he was acting as though she meant nothing. Buffy decided - and hadn't she already known it? - that men weren't worth the aggravation they caused. Better to live alone…

"You found some vampires then?" Angel remarked; his voice was full of ironic sarcasm, seeing their wounds, smelling the scent of sweat, blood and fighting on them.

James's mouth twitched up at one corner; not a smile, not by any stretch of the imagination.

"You could say that." His tone matched Angel's, and his eyes returned the black stare.

"Six of them," Buffy said, desperate to have the conversation return to known ground. Safe ground - safer than before, anyway. Safer than feelings. "We dusted them all, but not before we'd questioned one."

"Great." Angel's dark eyes moved from her to James and back again.

"Did _you_ find anything?" Buffy asked; the atmosphere of mutual dislike and tension between the two men was stifling. Angel shook his head, looked back to her.

"Not a thing. No vampire presence anywhere. I guess they're ignoring me, same as the others have. And it's not like they can permanently damage me, is it?"

"I suppose not."

"So, what did you discover? You said you questioned one?"

"Y - Yeah…" God, but Angel was acting in a really bizarre way; possessive of her - it showed in his eyes - and yet cold and somehow distant. And that stare, from her to James and back again, made her unaccountably nervous. "I… er… James got the answers. He speaks really good French."

Angel sneered.

"Yeah. I _bet_ he does. So, speaker of really good French, what did you discover?"

James remained icily composed, despite the obvious provocation.

"Well, it wasn't much." James spoke directly to Buffy; apparently, he thought Angel not worth bothering with. "Basically the vampire told me that yes, Chastaine does live in this city. They all know her, the vampires. Those that aren't in league with her are afraid of her which I suppose boils down to the same thing." He glanced at Angel then. "We'll get no help here, Angel. We three are all we've got, and we need each other, so we must co-operate, irksome though it may be. Understood?"

Angel put his head to one side, smiled insincerely.

"Absolutely, old man." An imitation of James's upper class voice, and James's mouth tightened into a thin line, but he made no sarcastic retort; Buffy had to admire his coolness. About the only time she did, she reflected.

"Good. Because if you don't want my help after all, I can easily go back to England today. It's no problem at all."

A few seconds' silence. Buffy found she was holding herself taut, waiting for Angel to answer. She thought she might scream. Things had been awkward before; what had happened to Angel to make him so obviously and openly hostile now? Apart from his catching her almost kissing James, that was…

"Okay. Yes, I want you here, James; we need your knowledge." Angel held out a hand, and Buffy released her breath in a rush as James - after a seemingly never-ending pause - took it. There would be no friendship, she understood, but a truce, at least. Better than nothing. "So, was there anything else? Any other information?"

"Well, it was rather garbled - the vampire was in extreme pain and terror - but I gathered that Chastaine has her - temple, he called it - somewhere under the city." James laughed bitterly. "Had to be, didn't it? Actually above ground, in the city, would have been much too easy. So I don't know - I suppose we'll have to… explore underground."

"But that's crazy," Buffy objected. "I mean… how? What do we do, get a map of the sewer system or something? Can't we just… set a trap?"

James turned his eyes on her; they were cool, with none of the emotion of before. Buffy found herself almost hating him, although why should she care if he was cool? Until tonight he'd rarely been anything different.

"Buffy, think," he said, in a patronising tone, making her sound as though she were still a naïve schoolgirl. "Chastaine is very powerful. We know that as a given. We also know that she guards Set, who lies in torpor, no doubt in some stone sarcophagus. How practical would it be to set a trap above ground? Is Chastaine going to think: Oh, I'll just drag this heavy stone coffin above ground with me. I'm certain it would come in useful…?"

"You sarcastic…" Buffy was so angry at his arrogant manner, she couldn't find the words to express herself. "I'll just leave you to think of something then, shall I? I bow to your superior knowledge."

Turning, she walked from his room, heard James call her name; he sounded sick and sorry. _Well, let him be sorry,_ she thought bitterly._ The man has no respect…_

An arm on hers made her turn angrily; she half-expected James to be by her side, but it wasn't, it was Angel. He wore an unpleasant smirk on his face.

"What?" Buffy burst out. "You want to make me feel bad too?" She slapped his hand away. "I wish…"

"That you'd never agreed to help?" His face softened. Buffy shrugged.

"Something like that," she mumbled. Angel smiled; a proper smile tinged with sadness.

"Sorry, Buffy. I don't want to upset you. That's the last thing I want, the last thing I ever wanted. You know that, right?"

"I don't know… Maybe… Yeah… I guess…"

"Buffy," he was closer now, "you know, the problem isn't you helping me, it's having _him_ along with us. _He's _the problem, Buffy. Not you and me; that need never be a problem again, if we can do this thing."

Buffy frowned; his stare was making her confused. Still the nagging thought: Angel was somehow different tonight, but she was unable to pinpoint exactly how.

"James is… a good man to have around," she said at last. "He was right, before. We need each other, all of us…"

"Yeah. I saw how you needed him, earlier."

"Angel… That was… I don't know…"

"You love him, Buffy?"

"Love?" Buffy shook her head violently. Truth was, she didn't know how she felt, but she didn't think love came into it. Especially now James had reverted to type. "I can't afford to love anyone," she said. "Not with things the way they are." Angel had backed her up almost against the wall; too close for comfort, but perversely, not close enough, in her confused state.

"You could love me again, Buffy," Angel murmured. "I know you could. And if I was human again…" He let the words trail off; they were tantalising. A dream unfulfilled. But Buffy shook her head again, determined not to cave in.

"Angel, if you were human again, I still couldn't love you. Don't you see? It'd make it worse. I'd be… well, protecting you all the time; you'd be a target if you were with me. I only want to help you _now_, Angel. After… Well, after, it'd be best if you left again. Live a normal life, Angel. Live it for me. Meet someone else. Fall in love with her. Give her children, Angel. Give her everything that I can never have, because eventually, it's going to end for me. I'm past my sell-by date, as they say. I've already lived too long by Slayer standards…" Buffy stopped speaking, tears closed her throat and she thought she might choke. "I can't do this," she said, suddenly sobbing. "I can't. Just let me keep my promise to you and then… Then go…" She was fumbling with her key, desperate to get away from Angel before she really broke down. Angel caught her wrist.

"And leave you to _him_?" he said. Buffy shook her head wildly.

"Don't you understand?" she cried. "There is no _him. _There is no _us._ Unless I can stop being who I am, there can be no _anyone…_ Oh, just let me go."

With a final surge of strength, Buffy pushed herself away from Angel, rushed down the hallway and got inside her room, locking the door. Thank God there was at least a lock on the door of this crummy room.

Angel watched her go, feeling strangely satisfied. He'd confused her and that was

what he'd intended. No way was he going to let James have her. Not when Chastaine needed her more. Needed her Slayer blood to wake Set.

One drink from Chastaine, that was all it had taken. One drink of her blood, which had the effect of wiping away his grotesque sentiment for Buffy.

"I will remake you_,_" Chastaine had whispered in his ear as he drank from the rich fount of her throat. "I will make you so you need fear nothing of Hell and the curse it has put upon you. You will want no humanity, Angel, if you join with me. With me, you can fully redeem yourself. Become Angelus again, and regain favour in the eyes of the Dark Lord. The curse will be lifted, and you will become great among us. As you were always meant to be."

He had looked up from his blissful feeding, his brain dazed with her power and her seduction; he felt her blood singing in his veins; felt… as he had never felt before. Words could not express his emotions.

"How?" he whispered, utterly helpless with desire. Desire for her, desire for redemption, however he might get it. Angelus was evil, true, but _he_ had never suffered as Angel suffered. Never to suffer again… Sweet Jesus…

Chastaine had smiled; she looked positively angelic herself. No vampire face for her; Angel suspected she never used it. Why mar such perfection?

"Bring me the Slayer," she told him. "I know your feeling for her - still there, deep within you, Angel, despite the dark ecstasy you feel now. All the better, for the sacrifice will mean more."

"Sacrifice?" Angel said, his head whirling.

"To wake Set." Chastaine made it sound the most natural thing in the world. "We need powerful blood to wake him, Angel. He has been sleeping too long for anything else to work. So your arrival here was most providential." She looked at him with slanting green eyes. "Perhaps it was predestined? Slayer blood to wake the God. Do it and you are assured to become second to none in his glory beside me."

God, such temptation. Too much temptation. Even a saint would surrender, and Angel was no saint. Never had been, not even close. He found himself nodding.

"It will hurt, giving up the one you love, but the hurt will cease, I promise." Chastaine had drawn him back again, back to her warm embrace and warmer blood. And as he drank, Angel knew he would do as she asked. He was powerless to resist her, and he didn't want to resist. As he fed, he felt Chastaine stroke his hair, running her fingers through it, fogging his senses until he had no idea of who he was, except that he must obey her. Must _have_ her. Wasn't that part of what she meant?

"Anything," he whispered, finally breaking the contact. Or had _she_ broken it? Angel had no idea.

"Make her trust you. Make her want you, Angel, as she did before. Give her little bits of information. I will tell you all you need to know. Don't worry about the Watcher. He is dead already; he just doesn't know it yet. One way or another, he will die." Chastaine smiled; the perfect face became more perfect; positively lit up with her corrupt beauty. "Perhaps I will allow you to kill him too." She stroked Angel's face. "Yes. My gift to you. Even now, he tries to seduce her. And he is not clean from sin, either. Not what he seems…" Chastaine closed her eyes. "Enough," she whispered. "Listen," she said.

And began to speak very softly into his ear, dripping honeyed words of poison into his brain.

Please Review!


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

Please Review!

CHAPTER TWELVE

James lay on his uncomfortable bed, sleepless, his crudely stitched wound throbbing in time to his heartbeat. An hour had passed since Buffy had walked out of his room, and every minute, every second, of that hour, James had felt deep regret for the way he'd spoken to her. Not that he was about to apologise; he wasn't, although the need to do so ached almost as much as the slash on his chest. He'd already almost ruined everything by giving her the merest glance of how he truly felt for her; couldn't show any more weakness. After all, he had to kill her, and out of loyalty to Helen, he intended to see it through.

He turned on his side, and a stab of pain ran through him; he'd never sleep like this, he thought. The hands of his watch showed it was already six thirty a.m., and weak early morning sun was trying to break through the barricade of the thin curtains that covered the windows. If he weren't very careful, he'd be fit for nothing later, when he planned to break into the relevant building to seek out the relevant plans they needed to find Chastaine and her temple.

Reluctantly, James dragged himself to his feet and hauled his bag onto the bed. It wasn't heavy, but the effort brought his body out in a cold sweat; for a second he thought he might faint. But he'd been trained to handle pain; he'd cope. Just a quick shot in the appropriate vein and he'd sleep like a baby. Or at least get the rest he desperately needed.

Beneath the false bottom of the bag, a package of glass vials containing clear liquid. Pethidine. If the French customs officers had been ultra-vigilant, they would all have been busted for certain and charged with bringing Class A drugs into the country. James wasn't sure of the penalty for that, but he didn't plan to take the drugs back into England. He had only brought them along for emergencies such as this; when he was finished here, he'd ditch them.

Next to the vials of pethidine, disposable syringes and needles. James removed the appropriate equipment and drew up a dose of the painkiller into a syringe. Making a tourniquet with his belt, he injected the liquid into the vein that bulged out.

Instantly he felt a rush of ecstasy, followed by total relief from the nagging pain. Utter bliss, he thought, as he lay on the bed and allowed the drug to take his mind.

He didn't sleep at once, as he'd hoped. Instead, the drug made his memory wander, uncontrollably, into the recesses of his brain, dredging up his past, and how he had come to this. Painful though it might be, James knew he had to endure it. Later, when the drug wore off and he fell into the inevitable sleep, he would be able to shroud it away again…

In his drug-soaked dream, he was a child again; the feelings of the motherless boy that he had been returned to him, made him whimper as he remembered the long loneliness. Tears leaked from his closed, rapidly moving eyes. Once more, he relived the disapproval of his father, Stuart Harrison.

_Try as I might, _James thought, _I never pleased my father_.

Stuart Harrison was a Watcher, as James's grandfather and great-grandfather had been. The position was inherited. James clearly heard his father's voice, curt and clipped, talking about a "Watcher Race", and "Watcher Blood," and remembered the feeling of suffocation on hearing that there was no escaping his fate. One day, he would be a Watcher too, and that was something to be proud of. Nothing else mattered.

But, James recalled, tossing restlessly his drug-haze, he had no intention of following in the footsteps of his ancestors; the world of the Undead held no interest for him. There _were_ no such things as vampires, or demons, or ghosts; no denizens of a netherworld set apart from humankind. Slowly James came to believe that his father - and his forefathers before him _ad infinitum_ - had been touched by a peculiar kind of madness. He equated the much whispered-of Watchers' Council with any other secret society, rather like the Freemasons, and assumed that all his father's talk of the supernatural and inherited bloodlines was exactly that: talk.

Now, of course, he knew differently.

_Oh God…_

The visions brought his early life back to him in full, glorious detail, years flicking by in minutes…

_I enjoyed my schooling,_ he thought, a brief smile playing across his sweating, pained face. _Nothing but the best for me, of course…. Expensive public school_. _Must be where I learned my charm.._

"A Watcher," his father's voice came back to haunt him, "must have a good education, so that his mind may be prepared for the intensive training he will later undergo."

_I agreed with that; I wanted a good education too; knowledge is power._

After taking A levels at the early age of 16 years old - extremely high intelligence was a certain sign of the Watcher heritage - he was granted admission to Oxford University. By the age of nineteen, he had gained an Honours degree in Psychology.

_Oh, but I was brilliant… And then I shocked them all, didn't I? Used my degree and signed up for a four year commission in the army as an officer psychologist. Had to escape…_

This course of action was an extremely unpleasant surprise to his furious father, who tried everything in his power to dissuade James.

"You must stay," Stuart Harrison insisted, it was his Sacred Duty - _the first time I ever heard that expression_ - and his birthright. Then he told him again about the Slayer, and the forces of Evil they fought together. James was having none of it. Outright, he told his father that he believed he was clinically insane, and walked out to his new life.

_I enjoyed my years in the army.._. _Mostly… I was a natural soldier;_ _the discipline of Army life satisfied my need for order. Getting my body in good shape for the first time in my life was pleasing. And then came the war… The Gulf war… Sweet Jesus, the things I saw there… Never want to see them again… So much pain and death…_

He saw the faces of bloodied, traumatised men, made insane with nerve gas, which had been the least vicious of the chemical weapons used in that brief but terrible conflict. He recalled men made insane with hallucinations, men who inflicted damage upon themselves because they saw themselves as monsters instead of humans. Deadly chemical weapons that made their skin peel off in great layers. And the constant fear of biological weapons such as anthrax took its toll. Of course, much of this was hushed up from both sides, and the truth would never be publicly known.

But James knew...

_That was why I got out, wasn't it? Couldn't stand it anymore_.

After leaving the Army, he got a position in a London University as a lecturer in his chosen subject. He half expected his father, with whom he had not maintained contact with while he was away, to resume his harassment about the Watchers. But his father remained silent, and James relaxed. Within three months, he met Helen, a twenty-year-old student who attended his classes.

James was not confident with women; his strange, motherless upbringing - not to mention his four years in an almost exclusively male Army - had left him unable to relate to the female sex. But Helen changed all that_._

_Ah Helen. Bright, bubbly and beautiful, you made me feel truly alive for the first time in my barren life_._ Oh but I loved you…_

He saw her now, chestnut hair; dancing blue eyes that lit up just for him; small, slim figure; a smile wider than the ocean. And all his…

_You gave me everything, Helen. Took me out of my male prison and showed me what it was to love. We had it all, didn't we? A home, rented admittedly, but eventually we'd have our own. We had enough money to live comfortably. We had each other. And we had the birth of our child to look forward to. Until…_

Until they had been married for almost a year, and Helen, two months before their child was due to be born, was attacked.

_Could it have been a set-up_? James wondered. _Yes, I think so. A set-up to get me to see the error of my ways. Weren't_ _the circumstances just that bit too convenient? And wasn't Helen found just that bit too quickly? Ah but not quickly enough. Our child still died in your womb. And you, Helen… You still lost your mind… Better if you had died too.._.

Every Monday night, Helen had attended cake-decorating class in the nearby High School. Baking was something she enjoyed, especially since she had met James, who, in her opinion, needed feeding up. Recently she was in the process of making a special celebration cake for James, whose twenty-fifth birthday was in a week's time. The attack happened as she walked back.

_I remember seeing you there in the hospital; I shall never forget it. Monitors beeping, infusions dripping blood into your veins. Fast, so fast, because you'd lost so much blood. And I saw your stomach, flat as it was before you grew our child. Flat… Dead child, died because of your blood-loss, Helen. Our daughter… I buried her, did you know that? No, you don't know anything anymore, do you? And then I buried you, in the institution where you still live, still get the best of care. Still rot away…_

When he'd returned home early the next morning, wrung out and devastated with mental agony, his father was waiting for him.

_"See what denying your birthright has brought you to." His first words to me; no words of greeting after so many years apart from his only child, no consolation or regret, just this cold proclamation. I hated him for that. Still do, although he's been dead these past three years. Didn't go to _his_ funeral. "A Watcher can have no personal life; he may marry to produce other Watcher sons, but his Sacred Duty is his life. By rejecting that, you have caused yourself only pain, have only yourself to blame for your wife's present situation."_

_I remember staring at him, loathing him, wanting to hit out, but not having the energy._

_"I have something to show you," my father told me. "We know who attacked your wife. We have the creature imprisoned."_

_"What…?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing; breathing was difficult. "If you… have the… the bastard who did this, you should turn him over to the law…"_

_"Only our Law - the Law of God - will punish this creature." Father paused, looked at me; his face seemed carved from granite, a graven image. "You have never believed, James, in what the male members of your bloodline have known for generations. I will prove it to you, and you will know the truth of your destiny." _

In a dream, wondering why he was listening to such insanity, James had accompanied his father to what he now knew was the Watchers' Council Headquarters. In the basement, incarcerated in a cage, a male creature that appeared human but wasn't. James's first sighting of a vampire. James knew it was no trick, and his mind reeled, came dangerously close to going the way Helen's had. He took in its demon face, its ring of sharp teeth, with the canines especially long, and its bloodless face. When it spoke, he knew that true, biblical evil existed.

_"Your wife was very tasty," it told me. "Fine blood, like mellow wine." What passed as a smile crossed its face. "And the blood of your child was even better."_

James had screamed - he screamed now in his pethidine-induced phantasm - and his father came forward. In his hand, a silver stake. Without a word, he opened the cage door, and as the vampire rushed him, he calmly thrust the silver weapon into the vampire's chest. When the vampire exploded in a cloud of dust, James finally lost his senses and fainted.

_That was the beginning of my training…_

Over the years, he learned a lifetime's knowledge. He could practise magic if he had the appropriate incantation; he could summon demons, bind them and command them. He knew all there was to learn about vampire lore, and who the most important vampires were. And he learned about the Slayer, although he might never get to Watch one. As there was a Watcher Race, so there was a Slayer Race, now depleted to a single Chosen One. Of course, there were other demon hunters, but mostly they were not born to their destiny, they chose it. But the Slayer was, like the Watcher, born to her fate.

In 1996 he had made brief acquaintance with Rupert Giles, who was just about to go to America to Watch the current Slayer, a High School student named Buffy Summers whose previous Watcher, Merrick, had recently been killed. James had admired Giles; he was conscientious and extremely knowledgeable. So it was a shock, when some years later, he was killed. Even more of a shock when James was elected to take his place.

_Poor Rupert…_

His first sight of Buffy was through a photograph. He had thought her pretty, in a Californian schoolgirl kind of way. But her looks were unimportant; only her reputation mattered. Apparently she was a formidable fighter, but the reports stated that she was a quirky kind of individual: exceptionally independent, feisty with too many of her own opinions. Their first meeting was a disaster, and a disaster was how James thought of the next couple of years, when Buffy constantly rejected his offers of help and acted as though she hated him.

_So when did I begin to love her?_

James tossed and turned in his drug-ridden dream. When? Who knew? But he did, and despite that, he was about to kill her.

_No more emotion. No more love_…

Somewhere during his mind-ramblings, he finally fell asleep.

When he awoke, it was dark.

Staggering to his feet, still feeling slightly out of it, he went to find his soon-to-be prey.


	13. Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Please Review!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

His prey had, however, left a terse note under his door: "Meet at Café du Monde at 9 p.m." At the top of the note Buffy had scrawled the time she'd put it under the door: 8 p.m. It was now almost quarter to nine, but the café was only around the corner from their accommodation.

As he left, James wondered if Angel had been given the same cursory treatment.

Angel had in fact received the same little note. Buffy, sitting at a table inside the café, drinking strong black coffee, had decided it was no more than they both deserved. She didn't much feel like talking to either of them, and wondered how they were all going to get along after the events of the previous night. Angel was jealous and… weird. James was stand-offish and abrupt, and Buffy… Well, she was just plain angry with the pair of them.

But she knew she would see it through, because last night - or rather, this morning - when she had finally got to sleep, she had experienced a vision within a dream. A vision so clear that she felt she knew all she needed to know. Everywhere, that was, except the exact location of the place she had seen. And within that location was Angel's deliverance. All their destinies, anyway, if deliverance was not forthcoming.

Buffy looked up from her coffee as James burst through the door; she noted he looked grey and exhausted, and strung out. Nerves, she guessed, although, if she didn't know better, she'd have said he was on drugs. He ordered coffee before he sat down. When he was finally settled, Buffy noticed that his eyes, which stared into his cup as though they sought the answer to their quest within its black depths, were reddened and slightly puffy. In short, he looked terrible.

"Are you sure you're fit to go on?" she said, taking in the way he held his right arm close to his chest, as though he was in pain. James looked up, nodded.

"Of course I am." Eyes back down again. Oh, but he was edgy. Twitchy. Buffy decided not to push it; what James did was up to him. "I've had some thoughts on…"

The door opened again: Angel. Again, his face was flushed, and he appeared pleased with himself; that strange insular satisfaction that he was hiding within himself. What, Buffy wondered, had happened to him to make him this way? Was it purely because he felt he was close to discovering the thing that would free him of his curse? It was the only answer that made any sense.

Angel smiled as he sat, having ordered nothing from the bar.

"Why the public meeting place, Buffy?" he queried. Buffy shrugged.

"Just didn't want to get into any heavy arguments, okay? It's time we sat and talked with no hostility or undercurrents. I thought that might be best done on neutral ground."

James nodded.

"Absolutely right," he agreed. Angel smiled again, shrugged.

"Sure," he said. "So, anyone got anything new to say?"

Buffy opened her mouth to speak but James suddenly decided to come fully alive and beat her to it. Well, Buffy thought, if he was so eager to jump in and talk, then let him. Anything was better than his brooding.

"We need to get maps of the sewer systems, the metro system and any known places of ancient significance," he began, obviously excited by his own ideas. "To do that we'll need to break into the relevant municipal buildings; town halls - whatever they call them in France - maybe the museums."

"I see," Buffy said. "So we'll waste several more nights breaking and entering, stealing papers that will probably be under lock and key; then even more nights wandering around filthy sewer systems, probably getting lost…"

"We'll have maps." James sounded irritated that she apparently hadn't been listening properly.

"Maps," Buffy echoed. "Yeah. Right. Sorry. So, we'll have these maps and we'll go deep into the sewer system and… what, exactly?"

"Chastaine's temple can't be a small thing, Buffy. From it, she conducts the most dangerous vampire group that has possibly ever existed. Yes, The Master was a real threat to humankind, but you overcame him easily enough in the end, but Chastaine and Set - they're a completely different prospect. If Set were ever to awake, then who knows what devastation he might cause? Even if it wasn't for the sake of Angel's humanity, then I think we'd be duty bound to kill him, and as many of his followers as we can."

"Yeah, okay, but the sewer system will be huge, James, as will the metro system. If we don't know what we're looking for, then it'll be impossible."

"You have any better suggestions?" James appeared hurt by Buffy rejecting his plan. Buffy smiled.

"If you'd let me get a word in edgeways before, then I could have told you." She paused for dramatic effect. "Last night, I had a dream. It was ordinary at first, then… then it dissolved into something quite different. I dreamed… I dreamed of a vast cathedral-like space below the city. Well, below the city, yet somehow linked with above." She saw Angel smile.

"The prophetic dreams of the Slayer," he murmured. "Useful, Buffy." He reached out and touched her hand, and she didn't withdraw it. She noticed a flicker of something pass across James's face - anger perhaps - but he said nothing. "Tell us more, Buffy."

Buffy found her fingers curling around Angel's. It was almost as though the past had never happened. She shook her head, confused, carried on speaking.

"You were right about The Master, James. He was dangerous, but compared to Set, I think he was a petty danger. The atmosphere in the temple - for that's certainly what I saw - was so evil that… that it made me feel nauseous, even in my sleep. I think that any human who goes there can't survive for very long without either dying of… of desolation, or else being converted to do evil deeds. I sensed… I sensed that is the reason for their existence - to make everything as evil as they are, or else kill, so that nothing good remains."

"You sensed right, Buffy." James spoke. "I didn't mention it before - no reason to make anyone else even more afraid than they already were - but what Buffy has just told us tallies exactly with what I read in the Research Library. There was even a quote - supposedly from Set himself at the beginning of his powers. Let's see. Yes: "There will come a time of great Darkness and Chaos, when the Light shall be driven back and the Gods of Death will rule." Or something along those lines. You might think it's yet another attempt by a tin-pot demon to destroy the world but…"

"He won't destroy it," Buffy broke in; suddenly she felt distressed, and she held onto Angel's hand more tightly. "He won't destroy it because he wants to rule it. He wants to bring back the Old Ones and make the earth a demon haven again, with humans as their slaves, food, whatever…"

"Exactly, Buffy." James seemed to have totally forgotten any pain from his wound. Now he appeared eager and alive. "What else did you see?"

"I saw a beautiful young woman with auburn hair; I think it was Chastaine. She was dressed in ancient robes and stood before an ancient tomb. The tomb was… was covered in what I think were hieroglyphs and she… she was… she held a knife - more a sickle - and she was preparing to kill… I couldn't see who she was preparing to kill, but I knew what the effect of this death would be. The blood of her victim - someone… someone she had searched for… would wake Set and the writing that James just mentioned would come true." She searched Angel's face, then James's. "Angel's search for humanity led us here, but maybe… maybe we were _meant _to come here anyway, all three of us. Maybe we're the only ones who can stop it."

James nodded grimly.

"I think Buffy's right," he said. "I don't suppose you have any idea of when this thing would happen?"

"Soon… But not exactly when…"

"And where, Buffy?" Angel asked.

"No." A desperate shake of her head. "But it was like I said… a kind of cathedral built beneath the ground… I kind of got the impression that… that…" A shrug, a sigh. "I don't know… it was weird… Like something I remember from before… before Giles died." She frowned, thought hard. It was there, the knowledge she needed, just below the surface. What had it been about the Hellmouth's opening the final time that had seemed odd? Then she laughed. So obvious that she couldn't imagine how she hadn't thought of it. Evil repeating itself.

"I know… kind of. It was weird because it's like… like a kind of irony. Chastaine's temple is like a cathedral because it's built below a cathedral. Or maybe the cathedral was built on that site because the early French Church knew there was once an evil site there and wished to eradicate it. But they didn't…"

"What cathedral, Buffy?" James asked, but Buffy shook her head; she didn't know.

"Notre Dame," Angel said suddenly. Buffy and James looked at him. "It's obvious, isn't it?" he said. "Notre Dame is built on the Isle de la Citie, the very centre of Paris. It's the greatest, oldest cathedral in Paris and the holiest place. It has to be there."

James nodded vigorously.

"Oh yes, makes perfect sense," he said. "Don't know why I didn't think of it. Did you know that centuries before Notre Dame was built, the Franco-Romans erected an altar there in honour of Jupiter? The place has always been at the centre of French religious practice. So who knows what was there before that? Probably not Chastaine or Set - they must have moved in afterwards - but such a site would undoubtedly attract them." He smiled. "Angel, you're brilliant."

Buffy closed her eyes, missing Angel's answering smile; she'd gone quite cold and a vision assailed her. She saw the edifice rising up before her. seeming to mock her with its presence. She saw inside the church, saw a locked door, the door that led into the crypt below. And from the crypt…

"Oh my God… Angel _is _right. Notre Dame… The temple is below Notre Dame. Hundreds and hundreds of feet below…" She opened her eyes. "I'm afraid," she stated; something she very rarely admitted. Angel squeezed her hand.

"It'll be fine," he said.

"So when do we start, James?" Buffy asked. "Is there any preparation we need to do?"

"I think we ought to purify ourselves in some way." James cast a look at Angel. "I don't know how you're going to cope with it, but we should bless some water and then cleanse ourselves with it. We must bless our clothes and prepare our minds against the evil that will assault us. We're both of the Christian faith, Buffy and I, well, sort of. Even if we don't go to church, we have been brought up with those beliefs, so we will use the trappings of that faith. I take it, Angel, that you were Roman Catholic before your transformation?"

"Right. Not that it makes much difference to me now. Holy water will scald me and prayers won't help me."

"Then I guess we'll have to think of something else for you. Whatever, we must rid ourselves of impurities. Otherwise we will make Chastaine's job easier for her."

"What job?" Buffy enquired, although she had a good idea.

"Chastaine will try her hardest to corrupt us. What better triumph than to make disciples of the ones who will try to destroy her? Especially you, Buffy. God, imagine it… a Slayer who's utterly evil. Not just a bit misguided and fallen by the wayside, but evil through and through. Doesn't bear thinking about, really."

"Right."

"I hate to say this, but Angel will be the weakest link…"

"James, that's unfair," Buffy began, but Angel stayed her from further protest.

"James is right," he said. "I am the weakest link. So maybe James ought to… I don't know… do something, some ceremony that binds me to him, to obey him, perhaps."

Buffy frowned; Angel was being very compliant; not like him, at least not as far as James was concerned. It was too weird… Then she pushed her suspicions - not even suspicions really, just flickers of curiosity - to the back of her mind. Probably Angel was only pleased that they had got as far as they had so quickly. Frankly, she was amazed too.

"Well, perhaps that would be the best thing," James was saying. "Chastaine is very powerful; we wouldn't want to ruin it by laying you open to her evil magic."

"No," Angel agreed. "That's the last thing we want."

"How long will the purification take?"

"Twenty four hours, if we start now. No food, only pure water, no feeding for you, Angel. It will all help sharpen our minds and concentrate our energies and spirits." James rose. "Shall we start then? Our hotel's not ideal, but it'll have to do."

"Whose room?" Buffy said, standing, feeling Angel's arm go around her shoulders, holding her close. With effort she struggled free. A mind messed up with wanting Angel wouldn't help any. James regarded them both solemnly. His face was unreadable.

"Mine," he said. "I've got what we need."

And so they trooped back to the hotel, with twenty-four hours to wait before they faced Hell on Earth.

I have pre-written up to Chapter 17, and have managed to misplace Chapter 14! Whilst I run around like a headless chicken searching for my original notes, there will be no updates until August-ish, as RL can be very annoying!

Sorry for the wait guys!

xCx


End file.
